


A Pinch of Belladonna

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF!Bilbo, Humor, M/M, Romance, Slow Build, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 02:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gandalf's plans for their burglar mysteriously fell through, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield marched onward, resolving to think of another plan or find another burglar somewhere else. And as it so happens, they did indeed receive another prime burglar, if not the person or place they expected to. </p><p>BAMF!Bilbo</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the new Bagginshield I talked about in my profile. :D I'm pretty excited about this one. I will be alternating updates with A Most Unusual Specimen and this story, though this one's chapters will remain between 3,000-4,000 words a chapter.  
> This story features a Bad Ass Bilbo with a somewhat tragic past, a stubborn and prideful Thorin, and a whole host of amusing dwarves. :D Hope you enjoy it!  
> *Also, the rating for this story will change to Mature in the future.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not claim any of the characters or places, nor do I make any profit from writing this. All rights go to JRR Tolkien or the Tolkien Estates. I'm simply writing this to improve my skill and out of love for the characters.

“Oh, goodness gracious! What on earth has happened here?” Radagast dithered about the uprooted tree nervously, his eyes darting over the surrounding forest. Birds chirped and twiddled about overhead and around, playing in the late afternoon sun and swooping down to peck at the unearthed city of insects below the tree. The wizard gave a few lilting chirps, and a thrush flew over to land on his open palm.

 

“What was that, you say? Mountain trolls from the north?!”

 

The bird chirped in response before taking flight once more, leaving the fidgeting wizard to worry.

 

“Goodness me, that’s not good at all! Where on this earth would they have-but then, they must have come from the Ettenmoors! But how—and—“

 

“Radagast!”

 

The wizard turned to see a familiar figure sifting soundlessly through the trees and plant life, his curly golden head flickering brightly in the shining sunlight filtering through the leaves. Behind him trailed a long line of rabbits, all hopping about curiously and tied to Radagast’s sled.

 

“Bilbo, my lad! Come quick, come quick! Nasty business, we’ve stumbled upon.” Radagast gestured the young hobbit over to him, one hand nervously clutching his staff, the other motioning the birds away. “Here now, give him some room. He couldn’t possible see over all your twittering about! That’s a good little one,” He cooed to a baby bird, which sang sweetly at his praise.

 

“What’s this?” Bilbo asked, looking over the scene with a shrewd eye. Upturned tree, large and deep footprints on the ground. Not clawed or feline, but rather in the shape of a large being’s foot. “Are these mountain troll tracks, Radagast?”

 

“Yes, my dear boy, yes! Or so Eugene tells me.” He motioned with a yellowed grin to the thrush sitting nearby on a tree branch. “Mountain trolls! And with the growing sickness of the Greenwood, too, this could mean a very bad thing. Very bad things, my lad.”

 

“But it’s in the late afternoon; the sun’s not long from setting,” Bilbo said, looking confused. “Mountain trolls cannot travel in daylight, yes?” At Radagast’s hasty nod, Bilbo hummed thoughtfully. “Then they must have caused this little upheaval last night.”

 

He walked around the outskirts of the clearing, taking in all angles of the tree and ground. His skintight armor, crafted cunningly from leather and leaf combined, had camouflage ability that would make it the envy of the Woodland realm should they ever see it. _Of course_ , Radagast thought ruefully, _that is if Bilbo allowed himself to be seen_. When Bilbo put his mind to it, he could blend in so seamlessly into the background of a place, Radagast doubted if even the keen eyes of the great elven kings could catch sight of him. He’d been that way ever since he’d stumbled into the Greenwood so long ago, when Radagast had first met him as a young lad.

 

 “Radagast?”

 

The wizard startled out of his thoughts. “So sorry, Bilbo. What did you say?”

 

“I was wondering, weren’t there some settlements around here? Farmers, I mean. Men.” Bilbo’s lip turned up at that, but his eyes belied his concern.

 

“Oh, yes, a while ago. It’s been too long since we patrolled this part of the forest. But I was so concerned with the growing darkness on the northern border and around…around Dol Guldur.” He shivered at that, whispering the name as though it were taboo.

 

Bilbo looked up at him with his brow furrowed. “Do you think this could have anything to do with the spiders?”

 

“No, no. Well, I don’t believe they’re working together or some such thing, but they might have come from…from the same darkness.” The wizard frowned. “I’ll need to get in touch with Gandalf soon. Though how I’ll manage that, I do not know. He’s always traveling and in all manner of places, too.”

 

Bilbo straightened from where he’d been examining the footprint. “Perhaps we should make camp nearby and check on the farmers in the morning? I’ll keep an eye out for any sounds during the night. Maybe do an area check before you head to rest.”

 

“You say that as if you’ll be the only one on the night watch tonight.”

 

“I _will_ be the only one on the night watch tonight,” Bilbo snorted as he gave his mentor a stern look. “You’ve been up for days without any rest in between; or did you think I did not notice your nightly mutterings to Sebastian and Marseille?”

 

Radagast looked chagrined at that. He’d thought Bilbo had been awake on at least two of those occasions, and Marseille had thought so as well, but Sebastian had assured him that the hobbit had been asleep! “Blasted hedgehog! He’s never been the best at reading people. Tickle the nose, I always say, to test if someone’s asleep or not.”

 

“In his defense, this is the sixth time he’s failed to notice, so it’s a wonder you keep taking his side over Marseille.” Bilbo chuckled as he reached the rabbit sled. “Now that’s a sharp hedgehog. If I were not worried about her safety, I’d take her with me on some of my smaller adventures. She’d make a good partner.”

 

Radagast gave one last cursory look over the scene before joining him and taking hold of the steering bar. “Well, if she weren’t so uppity about everything, maybe I would! I can’t carve a few mushrooms for dinner sometimes without her criticizing my technique.”

 

Bilbo gave a bark of laughter before sliding into the front section of the sled and slipping down to rest his back against the frame. “Well, perhaps if you’d take her advice upon occasion, she wouldn’t need to be so ‘uppity.’ I can sympathize with her. I’ve been telling you for ages about the proper cutting technique of mushrooms in order to make them the perfect accompaniment to—“

 

“Oh, not this again! The mushroom lecture, goodness gracious,” Radagast harrumphed and called for the rabbits to speed away, ignoring Bilbo’s soft laughter with all the dignity a wizard covered in bird poo and grime could muster.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They made a wide circle around the area near the upturned tree sight before settling down a ways away from where Radagast believed the farmers’ settlement was located. Their camp was very small and inconspicuous, as they’d both agreed to go without a fire that night to avoid detection. They ate a meal of salted pork and a berry fruit salad, before getting into their familiar positions for camping on patrol: Radagast molded into the large roots and trenches at the bottom of a tree, Bilbo perched up high at an optimum vantage point on the same tree.

 

Night had settled for a bit when Bilbo heard odd noises coming from the east of their settlement. He sat up on the branch and closed his eyes, focusing intently on the sounds. Clashing of iron and stone. Shouts, yells, battle cries. Guttural growls. Could be the trolls. But who were they fighting? The farmers?

 

Either way, it was his duty to check it out, Bilbo thought as he slid silently and effortlessly down the tree. He shot a quick look to a sleeping Radagast, whose clothes and appearance were already so dirty that he blended in perfectly and safely with the tree, before slinking through the forest underbrush and making his way toward the distant commotion.

 

After a few minutes of silent travel, Bilbo could see the light of a large campfire and could hear a growling conversation up ahead. He crept closer until he had reached the outer rim of the clearing and spread the protective greenery with deft fingers.

 

Three lumbering mountain trolls, with tough grey skin, bulging muscles, and thick, ugly faces, stood around a roaring fire. Positioned over said fire was a turning spit, upon which seemed to be… _dwarves_?

 

Bilbo snorted quietly while he listened to their caterwauling and complaints. Of course dwarves would be caught up by the mountain trolls. They probably charged into the clearing expecting to give them a heroic and sound thrashing that they could spin a merry tale about in a pub later.

 

Needing a better vantage point, Bilbo slid backward from the clearing and quickly scaled a nearby tree that afforded him a good view and enough darkness to be invisible. Now that he could see the whole clearing, the hobbit saw that there were quite a few captured dwarves trapped in sacks near a fenced in area filled with horses. With this knowledge, Bilbo realized that the trolls had probably stolen horses from this band of traveling dwarves, which had then followed said trolls back to their camp. A troll carrying two horses could have easily been clumsy enough to uproot an entire tree.

 

 _Well, they’re all still rather lively_ , Bilbo thought wryly, _so they likely haven’t been captive for long_. At any rate, it would be better to finish this business sooner rather than later. He certainly didn’t want Radagast charging into a fight with three mountain trolls to save a bunch of foolhardy dwarves. Goodness knows how often the wizard gets involved in rash and dangerous adventures.

 

“Why do we have to wait to eat’em, Bert? Nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf, yeah?” One of the trolls cackled, smacking his lips greedily. He reached forward with a fat hand to prod at a dwarf, who yelped indignantly.

 

“How dare ye lay yer filthy mitts on me, ye orc-sucking—“ shouted the bald dwarf, though he was forced to end his insult when a few embers burst from the fire and got caught in his beard.

 

“Hands off, Tom!” growled ‘Bert,’ who grabbed the other swiftly by the nose and knocked him backward.

 

‘Tom’ fell with a hard thump onto the ground and reached a hand back to rub his bottom, looking a bit hurt. “I just wanted to check if they’s was nearly done cooking! I’m so hungry!”

 

“Would you shut it already?” the third troll growled. Out of the three of them, he looked the most dangerous. “You think you’re the only one who’s ready to eat? Last thing any of us had was that skinny ol’ farmer, and you were the one who ate more than his fair share!”

 

Bilbo sat back a bit on his tree branch and had a foreboding realization. ‘Bert’ and ‘Tom’ had been two of the names used by the trolls who had inhabited the Trollshaws, or the area just above the Great East Road, nearly reaching into the Woodland realm, and known to be very dangerous to inattentive travelers. Along with their other brother William, these three trolls were guilty of a myriad of brutal deaths in the area, their victims usually local farmers and passing travelers.

 

With a sinking feeling, Bilbo realized that he and Radagast would probably not need to make a trip to the nearby farming settlement. They were probably long dead by now.

 

 _Well_ , Bilbo thought with grim determination, _these trolls will not be taking any more victims_. Their reign of terror in these parts would end. Tonight.

 

Balancing skillfully upon the thick branch, Bilbo reached one hand into the ring of pouches along his waist and the other into the long pocket lining his spine. Deftly, he withdrew Sightless, the small black pipe, nearly the length of his forearm, that had become his most treasured possession and his best weapon. In his other hand, he carefully withdrew six very small and thin stones, similar in shape to seeds.

 

Judging by the large body mass and thickness of skin, Bilbo would need a very quick shot and very lethal poison to take down these mountain trolls. Years of hard experience with his faithful Sightless had taught him to relocate his region of aim in the event of thick-skinned foes. He would have to aim for the facial organs: eyes, ears, mouth. And he would need potent poison to end this quickly, lest the trolls do anything drastic. He would have to use the Belladonna paste, then.

 

In another carefully lined pocket on his waist, there hung a small waterproof pouch that held the Belladonna paste. He placed the mouth end of Sightless between his lips while his hands worked swiftly to dip the tip of one stone into the dark colored paste. It was his own blend: a concoction of Belladonna that emphasized its lethal components and allowed for easily application to his weapons.

 

Once the stone’s point was suitably covered, he removed his mouth from the lip of the pipe and placed the stone there, holding the rounded end of the stone between his teeth. It was a very tricky process, one that he had perfected after so many years of training and studying herbal lore. He had built up a significant immunity to most poisons, but even a little bit of Belladonna would have horrid effects. It wouldn’t kill him, but he’d be very, very miserable for a few days.

 

With Sightless in place, now Bilbo simply needed to wait for the perfect opportunity.

 

Back in the clearing, the trolls seemed to be growing impatient with their slow roast. Bert, the ‘cook’ of the trio, was searching the nearby bushes for spices and herbs, while the other two held the turning spit and watched the cooking dwarves with hungry leers.

 

“Can’t we have a bit of a nibble? Just to tide us over until the rest is done?” Tom, the whiner, asked in his high reedy voice. “Just an arm or a foot. Juicy and crunchy!”

 

“If we do that, ol’ Bert’ll be whinin’ until dawn tomorrow of how we ruined his dinner. Besides, look how red that one’s lookin’. He’ll be done soon, I reckon.” The brutish one replied, poking at a dwarf with braided grey hair and beard. He did indeed look uncomfortably red in the face.

 

Bilbo’s eyes darted curiously to the dwarves in the sacks, most of which were still hurling out the occasional insult to the uncaring trolls and squirming about on the ground. The hobbit wondered at them not having any concealed knives upon them for situations just such as this one; those bags looked a bit worn and easily sliced through. He’d have to have a talk with these dwarves afterwards about emergency weapons, good gracious.

 

Renewed rustling in the clearing turned Bilbo’s attention back on the trolls. Bert had returned with a clump of weeds clutched in his hand, none of which were sage. He caught sight of Tom poking at the red-faced dwarf, and his face twisted with anger. He opened his mouth to bellow at his fellow troll, and Bilbo saw his chance.

 

Quicker than an elven arrow, Bilbo shot the little stone right into the open mouth of the troll. As Bert sputtered and choked, he quickly coated another stone and placed it within the pipe, ready for another round. He watched the other trolls intently his free hand already palming a third stone.

 

Bert the cooking troll choked and coughed around the stone lodged in his throat, falling onto his hands and knees in agony. The sharp stone must have punctured his throat, as Bilbo could already see the poison taking effect.

 

“Oi, Bert! Cough it up already, won’t you?” the crude troll William shouted exasperatedly. He stomped over to his fallen troll and thumped him on the back a few times.

 

Bert collapsed onto the ground, his limbs giving small last shivers before becoming still entirely.

 

The clearing was completely silent.

 

The dwarves, both bagged and slowly roasting, looked on with wide eyes and open mouths as one of their captors suddenly dropped dead. Out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo noticed one of the bagged dwarves, with a dark and slightly greyed beard, straighten up against the cliff face. Many of them, after recovering from the shock, turned to look at the dwarf, as if for guidance. Bilbo supposed he must be their leader. _Well, he’s clearly not the most tactical mind, if he’s led his group into capture_ , Bilbo thought derisively _. And by such dim-witted captors, too. Honestly…._

 

“What did ye do to him, aye?” Tom cried out in a panic, his screech reaching painful octaves.

 

“I didn’t do nothing to him, you hear! He just choked and kicked it!” William bellowed defensively, using one large foot to turn over Bert’s dead body. “Look, see? His face is all purple and red! He clearly choked! It ain’t my fault!”

 

But Tom either did not believe him or was a supreme coward as he slowly began backing away from the other troll. Seeing this, William stepped forward, brandishing his crude knife.

 

“And where d’you think you’re going?” he growled, taking a step closer and yanking the other troll in by his raised arm. “You’ll stay where I—“

 

But in the scuffle, the whining troll Tom had let out a particularly loud yelp, and Bilbo had taken his chance. Much the same way that his fellow had gone, Tom began to choke and grasp at his throat, his thick face turning red. William hastily let go of the other troll, and after a few moments, Tom lay still.

 

William stared at his dead fellows dumbfounded for a moment before his eyes turned outward, into the dark forest, with suspicion and violence. His ugly face twisted with rage, and he stomped around the clearing, getting dangerously close to stepping on the captive dwarves. He threw his arms, thick as tree trunks but hard as stone, and shouted into the night, “Where are you? I know you’re out there! Come out so I can—“

 

Bilbo took the last shot, landing another stone with perfect aim into the troll’s open mouth.

 

William too began to choke and cough, but he seemed to be smarter, or at least crueler, than his dead partners. He began to pull himself toward the dwarves held captive on the ground, as if to make one last kill before he left this earth.

 

Bilbo had another stone in his pipe before the dwarves could even shout in alarm and move away from the murderous troll. This shot pierced the troll’s eye, causing him to scream and writhe in pain. Two doses of Belladonna poison, however, were too potent and quick to leave him suffering for long, and after a long moment, he too died next to his partners.

 

Once again, the clearing was plunged into silence, before one dwarf hesitantly broke it.

 

“By my beard and my mother’s…what just happened?” called one of the dwarves on the spit, who appeared to have a rather robust mustache.

 

“I don’t know, but tell me someone has a knife or somethin’. And get yer foot out of my back!” shouted the bald-haired dwarf, who began to strain against his ropes.

 

“I should have one in my boots, if I could only reach in this damned sack,” A blonde haired dwarf said with a grimace as he wriggled furiously on the ground.

 

“Nobody move,” ordered the dark-haired dwarf with the grey streaks in his hair. The others immediately stilled at his command. “Those trolls were not killed by any natural cause.”

 

 _Well, this is an herbal poison, so I could argue that they were_ , Bilbo thought with a small smirk. He slid down the tree and landed noiselessly onto the soft earth, taking a small moment more to survey the clearing. The company of dwarves was very alert now, looking warily into the surrounding bushes and trees. The dark-haired leader seemed to glare mutinously out into the shadows, as if daring any assailant to attack them now. Perhaps his pride was a bit sore, having been outwitted by trolls after all. Well, it should be, at least.

 

Bilbo wondered whether or not he should release the dwarves now or wait until Radagast had joined him. He knew he had been gone from his own camp for a significant amount of time, which meant his mentor was most likely already on the move and searching for him. He didn’t see any reason to wait; the wizard would be here soon, and these were dwarves. Dwarves he had just saved and from trolls, no less.

 

“Who’s out there?” called out the leader, his voice deep and commanding. “Come forward, if you will. I would like to meet our savior.” He sounded welcoming and grateful enough, but Bilbo was no hobbitling to be fooled by pretty words. The look in the dwarf’s eyes was cold and wary, defensive. He could also see movement under the roped bag, as though he were reaching for a hidden weapon.

 

Bilbo gave a sharp bark of laughter, sending a ripple through all the dwarves. They swiveled in their spots to stare at the source of that laugh, and it would surely not be polite of Bilbo to laugh at them where they could not see him. He stepped out into the clearing, Sightless tucked safely away in its case along his back, and gave a few clucks of admonition.

 

“You probably thought I was an elf, didn’t you?” He looked at them all with open amusement. “Dwarves and their prejudices, goodness me. But I don’t reckon you have much right to complain, given your position.”

 

The leader’s glare sharpened enough that it could cut through stone, but he refrained from saying anything, choosing instead to watch him with distrustful and wary eyes.

 

Bilbo gave another small chuckle as he kicked a wave of dirt over the fire, smothering the flames and embers there. “I do hope there is a good story behind this, because being outsmarted by trolls? Well, that’s pretty embarrassing.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Two updates in two days! Who am I? :) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I won't be able to update until next weekend. Too much school work. :/
> 
> Thank you for reading! :D

Bilbo watched as the leader’s face flushed with embarrassment and fury at his amusement. The other dwarves seemed equally indignant, though he noticed that a dark-haired dwarf nearby the leader seemed more guilty than insulted.

 

“It was more of a surprise attack, really,” called the mustached dwarf on the spit, giving Bilbo a dimpled grin. “Came at us out of nowhere. Like shadows in the night.”

 

Bilbo snorted. “Yes, I believe that three lumbering trolls weighing at least five hundred stone apiece snuck up on you. At their own campfire, with plenty of food to satisfy them already.” He gave them an unimpressed look, gesturing toward the full enclosure of ponies nearby. “Yes, that makes load of sense.”

 

He strolled over to stand by the spit of dwarves, wondering if he could get them down without untying them. Seemed unlikely. They’d just have to _stew_ for a bit. Bilbo gave a snort at his own little joke, before turning to look at the leader over his shoulder.

 

“But you know what would make even more sense?” he asked tauntingly. “Three large and rather stupid trolls wandering about the forest stumble upon a large group of ponies under little or no supervision.”

 

The younger dark-haired dwarf and a blonde dwarf lying in their sacks on the ground flinched at that.

 

“What a golden opportunity for them! So they grab a few for their dinner tonight, and maybe a sprinkle of sage or two for a bit of seasoning. But those weren’t just any wild ponies, oh no,” Bilbo sauntered around the extinguished fire as he weaved his little tale, giving the leader a small smirk. “Those ponies belonged to a traveling group of dwarves: a company, if you will. And they needed those ponies for their little quest to continue on, so they simply had to retrieve them. What were a few trolls to a company of hardened dwarf warriors, anyway. A child’s game before bed, they thought.”

 

On the opposite side of the dwarves was a large pile of weapons and packs, most likely the trolls’ plunder. Bilbo walked toward it, stepping over the body of ‘Bert,’ before lifting up the sword on top and running a finger down the blade. “So they followed these cumbersome pony thieves to their campfire and heroically charged into battle, teeth bared and battle cries sounding.”

 

He swung the sword around, cutting in a diagonal motion and grinning as the dwarves tensed further. The leader’s eyes seemed to burn like fire. Bilbo wondered if his jaw were hurting, the dwarf was clenching his teeth so tight.

 

“But alas, something happened. A misplaced swing here, a loose grip on your sword there, and whoops! One of you,” he said as he pointed the sword at each dwarf on the ground (from a distance away, of course), until he stopped on the young dark-haired dwarf again, “was caught unawares.”

 

The young dwarf glowered petulantly at him, his cheeks turning red.

 

Bilbo gave a small shrug at that, plunging the sword into the ground and leaning his elbow against it. “I suppose there’s some small compensation then. The trolls were obviously less stupid than the lot of their race if they knew to take a hostage. Still….” He trailed off, giving the dwarves on the spit a pitying look. He was having too much fun with this, he knew.

 

“Yes, it was a bit of a fiasco,” agreed one of the dwarves on the ground. He had a rather owlish face, with a long white beard and shrewd eyes. “One we’re rather eager to be out of,” he said pointedly, one bushy eyebrow raised.

 

“I’m sure you are,” Bilbo replied with a grin.

 

“Perhaps we can come to an agreement then,” offered the elder dwarf.

 

“Enough of this,” the leader growled. Steely blue eyes, like the color of the sky during a winter storm, glared at the hobbit from under a furrowed brow. Bilbo turned toward him slowly, watching. “You’ve played your little game long enough. Name your price for our freedom, halfling.”

 

Bilbo felt a familiar rage coil in his stomach at the word. He hated that word: ‘halfling,’ As though he were half a being, _less_ than a person, simply for being shorter than most. He had heard it often when he had been forced to travel through the cities of Men and even amongst the elves. That a _dwarf_ would call him such made him even angrier.

 

“We’re willing to pay ye a worthy sum, I assure ye,” called the white bearded dwarf, his voice placating and diplomatic, but Bilbo was more focused on the leader.

 

“ _Halfling_? But I thought that I was your ‘ _savior_ ’ a moment ago,” he said mockingly as he pulled the sword out of the ground and walked deliberately to the pile of dwarves, his narrowed eyes fixed on the leader. The dwarf glared back, tensing when Bilbo stopped within a few feet of his tied up form. The hobbit slowly raised the blade and held it next to the dwarf’s throat, his grip steady and strong.

 

“I am no dwarf to be bought with a pretty golden trinket or shiny rocks,” he said softly, though the threat in his voice was unmistakable. “There is nothing you have that I need or want. _Nothing_ you hold is of value to me.”

 

He held the dwarf’s gaze, letting him see the truth of the matter in his eyes. There was anger there, strong and burdened with time, as well as a cold and steady purpose. The dwarf finally seemed to see that he had insulted Bilbo, nearly beyond what he was willing to take from some strange dwarf trapped in a sack. He scowled fiercely but inclined his head in acknowledgement, ignoring the brush of steel against his throat as he did so.

 

 _Bet that stung his pride quite a bit_ , Bilbo thought, rather unforgivingly. He gave a small huff and removed the sword from the dwarf’s neck. He sauntered over to the pile of weapons, seeing out of the corner of his eye as the dwarves looked at each other with concern. Laying the sword gently down upon the pile once more, Bilbo wondered what was taking Radagast so long.

 

“Please,” the white haired dwarf appealed again, surprising Bilbo enough that he turned around and met his gaze. “Surely there’s something that would be suitable. We could trade in information, if ye’d prefer that.”

 

“Oh ho?” Bilbo looked curiously at the dwarf. The pride and stubbornness of dwarves were legendary, so he was quite pleasantly surprised to see at least one sensible dwarf among the lot willing to sacrifice some of his pride for his and his comrades’ lives. “And what makes you think I’m interested in your information?”

 

“Ye don’t want our gold, our weapons, or our services. Why else would ye keep us tied up, if ye didn’t want to know what we were doing here?” The dwarf asked, his eyebrows raised pointedly.

 

“Balin,” the leader growled warningly. He said something else, in a language that Bilbo did not understand. Must be Khuzdul, then.

 

Whatever he had said, Balin seemed to ignore it. Instead, he kept his gaze firmly on Bilbo’s and said, “Well, how about it, laddie?”

 

Bilbo gave him a wry smile. “And what makes you think I want anything from you at all? Perhaps I’m bored and this is more entertaining than target practice.”

 

A wave of disgruntled and frustrated grumbling began at this, and Bilbo had turned away to hide his grin, when he noticed a shadow passing through the trees and behind the cliff face. In a moment, Bilbo was back into the tree, climbing soundlessly up the branches and positioning himself on his perch again, Sightless in his left hand, a poisoned stone in his right. He watched and waited cautiously, though he couldn’t help the bubble of amusement at the shocked cries of the dwarves below, who must have thought he’d abandoned them.

 

A figure moved into the clearing, a tall bearded man in a gray cloak and pointed hat wielding a wooden staff. He moved very slowly into the clearing, before straightening up.

 

“What on earth has happened here?” he called out, and the dwarves all turned to him with cries of relief.

 

“Gandalf!”

 

“Mister Gandalf!”

 

 _Gandalf? Gandalf the Grey?_ Bilbo watched speculatively as the wizard moved further into the clearing and chuckled at the dwarves. He’d heard quite a bit about Gandalf from Radagast these past few years; that he was a great wizard, if a bit meddlesome. Radagast liked to complain that he spent too much time worrying over the men and elves of the realm and not enough time amongst the forests and animals. To which Bilbo would point out that Radagast almost never left the Greenwood, so it was not as if he was concerning himself much with the other beings of the realm. The wizard had yet to come up with a retort for that.

 

 _Where is he, anyway_? Bilbo wondered worriedly _. Perhaps he slept right through all the commotion_? _He really hasn’t been getting much sleep lately…_

“Where were you, anyway, Mister Gandalf?” one of the dwarves asked, pulling straw and dirt from the intricate grey braids around his chin and head.

 

“Ah, well,” Gandalf began, his voice rather gravely. “I was returning to the camp when I ran into an old friend of mine. A fellow wizard.”

 

“Another wizard lives in this forest?” the leader asked, his eyes darting warily around the outskirts of the clearing. Without the sack hindering his view, Bilbo could see the heavy fur-lined coat and deep blue leathers and armor of the dwarf in question. Not the typical travel gear of a merchant dwarf….

 

“Yes. Radagast, the Brown. He’s the guardian of these forestlands and has been for some time. He’s a bit of an odd fellow, but he’s very dedicated to his duty. I nearly walked right over him, where he was sleeping against a tree.” Gandalf shook his head with a fond if a bit exasperated smile. “I stopped to talk to him for a moment, but he became suddenly anxious about something and took off on his sleigh.”

 

“Sleigh?” one of the dwarves asked, looking confused.

 

“What did this wizard look like?” The leader demanded, his hand tightening on the hilt of his newly recovered sword. Bilbo realized with a jolt that it had been the one he had picked up earlier.

 

“Well, he—“

 

“Trolls! Murderers! Tree Killers!”

 

The shout rang out into the clearing, shocking the group and causing them to draw their weapons in alarm. Bilbo raised Sightless to his mouth, seed in place, worried that these dwarves might hurt his beloved mentor, who had a tendency to crash into odd or dangerous situations without really thinking about it.

 

Sure enough, a sleigh pulled by a dozen Rhosgobel rabbits poured into the clearing, Radagast following on the sleigh with his staff raised threateningly.

 

“Radagast! There you are, my dear fellow,” Gandalf called out in welcome. “I wanted to talk with you earlier, but you ran off before I could get a word in.”

 

“Oh, Gandalf!” Radagast gave his head a small shake before smiling at his friend, though his forehead was creased with worry. “I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you too! A lot of things have been—what’s this?” he asked, having just noticed the troll corpse next to his feet.

 

“I was just about to ask the same question,” Gandalf said as he turned to the dwarves once more. “Thorin, what’s happened?”

 

“It’s a long story,” the leader dwarf sighed wearily.

 

Bilbo listened to the dwarf recount the tale of their capture, feeling rather smug at how close Bilbo’s guess had been to the truth. Thorin, the leader of the group as Bilbo now knew, was rather tall and quite handsome for a dwarf, though obviously rather self-important and moody. Bilbo allowed himself a moment to think about this small attraction he seemed to have for the pigheaded dwarf before sighing wistfully. _Ah, well. They’ll be on their way soon, anyway. No use mooning over the dark, grumpy one._

 

The hobbit tuned back in when Thorin began the part of the tale about what had happened to the trolls and the mysterious figure that had taken them down. He had a moment to feel smug over the reluctant respect the dwarf gave to his skills (though he said quite a few rude things about his personality), before he noticed Radagast give a little start.

 

“A slight figure, cloaked in leather and leaves?” the wizard questioned, taking a closer look at the trolls.

 

“Yes,” Thorin replied lowly. “Do you know who he was?”

 

“Well, certainly, I do!” Radagast said cheerily. “He’s--!”

 

Bilbo shot one of his other stones, with a small feather attached to it, quickly into the clearing. It landed with a small clink on the ground in front of Radagast, who looked at it curiously. It was a sign that they had rarely ever had to use, but the message was clear to Radagast: _Say nothing_. He leaned down and picked up the stone calmly, plucking the feather off the small rock and placing it behind his ear, their sign for: _Understood_.

 

The dwarves, on the other hand, jumped back and drew their weapons for a second time since being released and made a small formation in the clearing, eyes watching the forests warily.

 

 _A bit jumpy, these dwarves_ , Bilbo snickered as he slid mutely down the tree and slunk off into the forest, headed for their little house. He knew that Radagast would invite the group of dwarves and Gandalf to lunch and to rest for the day, so he figured he’d go back and get a head start on the meal.

 

A two hour trek later brought Bilbo to the quirky and obtusely shaped house built around the trunk of a massive tree, his home for the past twenty-five years. Nestled in a small glen of bright greenery and thick trees, the cozy little home was built from sturdy oak and stone combined, even showcasing a beautiful oak door that Bilbo had carved and painted himself as a present to Radagast. Ivy vines and all manner of plants grew along the walls, and large tree roots curled around the edges of the house and along the cracked stone steps leading to the door.

 

Radagast, for all his magic and abilities, was dreadful at crafting wood or tending to a garden, two tasks which had fallen into the capable hands of Bilbo when he had begun to live with Radagast. Most of the repairs to the splintering floorboards or holes in the roof had been fixed by Bilbo within that very first year of his life here. His talent with such things had made him both proud and very sad, as it reminded him of his father.

 

As Bilbo trotted up the stone steps and entered the house, he smiled at the welcoming yips of the two hedgehogs waiting for their return. Marseille and Sebastian had made quite a mess of the dining table, crumbs and nutshells scattered everywhere.

 

“Oh, you two,” he muttered fondly, placing his arm on the table so that they could run up his arm and nuzzle his cheeks. He could not speak to them the way Radagast could, but he loved and cherished the two puffballs all the same. “You’ve always got something for me to clean up when I get back, don’t you? Your way of welcoming me home.”

 

Sebastian licked his chin and cooed sweetly, while Marseille gave a small yip and motioned her paw at Sebastian in an accusatory fashion. This, of course, started a little spat amongst the hedgehogs, a familiar occurrence in the wizard household.

 

“Hey, now, that’s quite enough,” Bilbo said as he looked at them sternly. “I know you both played your part in the mess on the dining table, and don’t you deny it, Marseille.”

 

The hedgehog turned her little head down abashedly, giving a small hoot of acceptance. He gave them both a fond pat on the head and said, “We’ve got guests on their way, so I need you two to clean this up, alright? It wouldn’t do to leave this mess, even if they are dwarves,” Bilbo muttered, looking wryly about at the cluttered books stacked on top of nearly every surface. “I’d better get started on dinner. Any preferences?”

 

Marseille and Sebastian, already scurrying along the table and stuffing the crumbs into their mouths, made a few murmurs and growls.

 

“Vegetable soup it is, then!”

 

With that, he left the hedgehogs to their cleaning and walked into a smaller room off to the right of the kitchen: Bilbo’s room. It was a very small room, with only enough space for his bed, a bedside table, and a small chest for his clothing. He’d been working on carving pictures and stories into the walls, as well as a few songs and poems he’d composed, and the room was now quite a sight, regardless of its size. He’d done a very skillful job, if he could say so himself, with the walls and the quilted blanket on his bed. He was rather proud of it all, really.

 

On the bedside table, there sat a long box with intricate carvings and elvish scripts in the exterior. He unhooked the latch and opened it gingerly, fingering the soft black velvet of the inside, and lifted up the first cloth section and placing it next to him on his bed. Then, he unbuckled his belt of pouches and laid it gently down into the bottom compartment of the box. Placing the velvet lining on top of it, he drew Sightless from his back and placed it neatly onto the velvet before shutting the box and making sure the latch was tight, lest a hedgehog or two became more noisy than they already were.

 

With Sightless taken care of, Bilbo quickly changed into his normal clothes, a leafy green tunic and brown trousers, left his room, and went out of the backdoor of the cottage to the garden in the back.

 

This was Bilbo’s vegetable garden, his pride and joy. Lined in neat rows and carefully tended, the garden hosted a large range of vegetables: carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, peas, cucumbers, broccoli, and many more! A line of herbs meant for seasoning sat along the back fence, which he’d had to create due to all the pesky rabbits and squirrels that tried to sneak in and eat all of his work.

 

He sang a little song as he picked a few ripe vegetables and handfuls of herbs, feeling at peace there. While the day would certainly be interesting, Bilbo always enjoyed cooking and enjoying a good meal with interesting company. The dwarves would probably be a little sore about his teasing, but once they tasted his vegetable soup, he was sure they’d give him another chance. He _had_ saved them from the trolls, after all.

 

Finished gathering his ingredients, Bilbo headed back inside and saw that Marseille and Sebastian had done a decent job of cleaning off the table and were now sitting on the kitchen counter, hoping to steal juicy morsels while he cooked. He smiled at them as he put on his apron and began washing the vegetables in the sink.

 

Despite the rather ramshackle appearance of the outside of the house, the inside of their cottage was cozy and comfortable. Most of the walls were lined with books and other knickknacks, sometimes a birds’ nest or two. A couple armchairs sat near the fireplace, draped in multi-colored blankets and holding a few quilted pillows. The dining table had been crafted by Bilbo himself out of lovely oak wood, with artful designs carved into the legs and surface. Bilbo had been pleasantly surprised to discover Radagast had a working sink and latrine, though to this day the hobbit did not ask how it worked (so long as the water remained clean, he didn’t care all that much).

 

As the cottage had been originally just for one wizard, Bilbo and Radagast had worked to make a bit more room and space for the both of them, as well as their animal friends. As Radagast was absolutely terrible at anything resembling housework, Bilbo had developed quite a good many hobbies to keep him busy and to make their home nice and comfy. He’d been taught how to sew and knit in his childhood, so he had put that to great use in the past years, making their blankets and clothing out of cloth bought by passing merchant caravans on the Great East Road. He’d also managed to carve out some space toward the back of the house for a pantry to stock up their food in and had made new cabinets over the small kitchen area to hold the ground spices and grains.

 

All in all, the cabin had undergone quite a transformation since Bilbo arrived.

 

 _Though it’s still rather small_ , Bilbo pondered as he set a large iron pot over the fire to heat up the water. _It’ll be a wonder if thirteen dwarves and another wizard managed to fit in here…Ah, well, we’ll figure it out._

For the next couple hours, Bilbo sang a few songs and continued preparing the vegetable soup, even rolling a few dozen balls of dough to make rolls. Marseille and Sebastian kept him company, dancing to his songs and bickering over the slices of cinnamon-flavored carrots he sent their way. He pulled out the dishes from the kitchen cabinets and drawers and gave them a thorough cleaning, checking the time by the sun.

 

Before long, he could hear the rustling of feet passing through bush and tree, the grumbling of hungry dwarves, and the low mutterings of two certain wizards. Bilbo grinned as he checked on the soup again, making sure it was delicious and ready to be served, and then checked on the rolls, still warm in their little bread baskets while one last batch was finishing baking in the oven.

 

The smell alone was heavenly, wafting through the air and filling with room with tasty smells and the promise of a good meal. The dwarves obviously thought so too, as he could hear them talk about it through an open window.

 

“Something smells really good!”

 

“I hope there’s plenty of seconds.”

 

“I can smell rolls! Rolls!”

 

“Who’s in there cooking, if the wizard’s out here? Squirrels?”

 

Bilbo gave a snort at that last comment before setting the small tower of bowls on the dining table and placing the spoons next to them. They should have plenty of second helpings to go around and a good deal of rolls, too. He looked around the room one last time to make sure everything was ready and then walked with a hop in his stead toward the door, his mischievous side rearing its head. He was sure that Radagast had not revealed exactly who waited for them in the small cottage, and he eagerly anticipated the shocked look on the dwarves’ faces.

 

Once he was sure they were on the doorstep, he opened the door with some theatrics and gave them a wide, impish grin.

 

Thorin, who had been standing at the front of the group next to Radagast and Gandalf, stepped forward in shock and anger. “ _You_!”

 

“Me!” Bilbo shouted back merrily. “Welcome to our home!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Dinner with Dwarves! And a bit more on Bilbo's past. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So, there were quite a few observant readers who pointed out the little snag in my story. XD Radagast’s territory is originally centered around the Green wood, to the east of the Misty Mountains. For the purposes of this fanfic, His territory extends a bit to the west, in the forested area preceding Rivendell within the Trollshaws. The reason for this has partly to do with Bilbo’s past as well as to do with Radagast being a bit more proactive in this story than in the Hobbit or LOTR (which also has a bit to do with Bilbo as well). ☺ So for now, let’s just say that Radagast has a few settlements in the forest lands to the east and one in the west, though Bilbo lives solely at their little house mentioned in this fic. It’ll be explained story soon. 
> 
> Thank you all for your nice comments!!!!! :D

Perhaps it was because of how seldom Bilbo had the chance to interact with so many people at once that he was having such great fun at the dwarvish company’s expense. Certainly, on his occasional trips into the nearby settlements of men he had the opportunity to talk with other people, though it was a rare occurrence indeed to find one with even the smallest dabble of manners or intelligent conversation. Still, those times were few and far between, as Bilbo only ever ventured there when he could not simply make what they needed and therefore had to buy it.

 

Though he had often tried to tell himself otherwise, the hobbit did occasionally get rather lonely. He loved Radagast dearly, but the wizard was not one for teatime conversation, regardless of how Bilbo had tried to instill an appreciation for it in him. He’d only ever managed to get him to sit down for more than a half-hour by making his favorite blueberry and hazelnut scones, and even then he’d mainly focused on eating as many as possible and then leaving to gander about with the squirrel colony a league or so away.

 

Not to mention all the other responsibilities Radagast had in the Greenwood as well as in this forest; the wizard would sometimes leave for months at a time, inspecting the plants and animals beyond the mountains, while Bilbo watched over the smaller forest here.

 

He cared deeply about Marseille and Sebastian, and he loved their nightly snuggles and antics, but Bilbo did not have the wizard’s ability to communicate with them. The little hedgehogs certainly understood him, but he couldn’t talk with them, couldn’t share his thoughts or feelings, couldn’t ask for their advice or opinions on something.

 

As he watched the dwarves’ dumbfounded faces with a wicked amusement, the hobbit realized that despite everything that had happened in the past, he had begun to miss being near other people. It would be a nice thing, to have the house bustling with too many feet and too many voices. Even if it was just for a little while.

 

The dwarf in front of him, Thorin, opened his mouth a few times, as if he had no idea what to say in such a situation. He was certainly a handsome dwarf with those dark blue eyes, strong nose and jaw; his long black hair, streaked with grey, was loose and wavy around his shoulders, and Bilbo could see the intricate braids and silver clasp beads throughout, now that he was a few feet away. He could still do with a better personality, though; so dour and grumpy, you’d think someone had just told him an elf fancied him. 

 

_Well, maybe that’s unfair_ , Bilbo wondered. _I did tear the mickey out of them for the whole troll shenanigans. And then pointed a sword at his neck…. Hmmmm…._

“Is that vegetable soup I smell, Bilbo?” Radagast asked as his nose wiggled around like a rabbits. A few yips could be heard from inside the home, and the wizard flushed with pleasure. “Oh, yes, it is! And Sebastian and Marseille helped, oh, how wonderful!” He brushed past Bilbo was a cheerful hop, giving him a small pat on the back.

 

“Bilbo?” Gandalf whispered, his eyes widening. He looked almost as if he’d seen a ghost as he reached a shaking hand up and pulled the tall grey hat from his head.

 

“Ah, yes,” Bilbo said amiably. “I did not introduce myself earlier, given the circumstances. A bit rude of me, certainly, but you can never be too careful. Trolls are not the only dangers to be found in these parts.”  He brushed his hands down his front, smoothing out his apron and wiping his palms. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

 

The dwarves turned as one to look at Gandalf, who looked very befuddled and confused. Bilbo was also rather bemused at this, wondering why his name had caused such a reaction. Then the taller wizard stepped forward and bent over to look closely at the hobbit’s face. “It is you, is it not? Bilbo Baggins, son of Belladonna and Bungo Baggins?”

 

Bilbo felt a shock run through his body at his parents’ names. He stiffened, looking up at the wizard with guarded eyes. He was no longer smiling. “Yes, those were my parents’ names. Did you know them?”

 

“Yes!” the wizard nodded emphatically. “Well, Belladonna. She was one of my dearest friends! I was deeply saddened when she passed on. A most amazing hobbit, to be sure.” He looked speculatively at Bilbo. “I tried to get in touch with you a few weeks ago, to see how you were doing, but….” He trailed off once he saw the sudden change in Bilbo’s countenance; if the hobbit had been a bit cold before, he was now positively frigid.

 

“Yes, well, anyway,” Bilbo remarked, stiffly changing the subject. “I’ve heard much about you from Radagast. You’re Gandalf the Grey, called the wandering wizard, the grey pilgrim, and the most meddlesome fellow that Middle Earth has ever known.”

 

“Those were _not_ my exact words!” Radagast shouted from within the house.

 

A few of the dwarves gave a few small coughs to disguise their snorts, and Thorin in particular gave a grunt of agreement. The wizard in question sent a quick glare at the gathered dwarves before turning back to Bilbo with an almost rueful smile. “I’ve attracted quite a few names in my time, that is true. I’ve been on this earth far before any of you were born.” He turned to give the still snickering dwarves a calculating look. “And I will continue to be long after the rest of you have gone.”

 

That seemed to shut the dwarves up for a little while, obviously wary to anger the wizard any further. Gandalf looked quite satisfied with that, before turning to Bilbo with a small smile. “Now, I would much appreciate some dinner, if you have any to spare.”

 

“Oh, yes, certainly,” Bilbo nodded, gesturing the wizard inside. “I haven’t been introduced to the rest of you, so if you don’t mind.” He smiled welcomingly at the dwarves, feeling a bit of impish delight return as a few of them puckered their mouths in response.

 

“Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. At your service.” He could not have looked more insincere about that last bit if he had tried, which only served to remind Bilbo that, while handsome, this dwarf was rather rude and stubborn.

 

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours,” Bilbo replied when the dwarf had straightened up from his small bow, though his smile had a lot more teeth than before. The dwarf simply strode past him into the house, head held high and nose turned up. For a moment, Bilbo thought about tripping him, but the hobbit let it go. He’d have plenty of time before dawn to teach the dwarf some humility, if he chose to.

 

“Fíli and Kíli, at your service,” chorused the young blond dwarf and dark-haired dwarf, giving exaggerated bows and grinning at him.

 

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours,” Bilbo replied again, looking at them shrewdly. The dark-haired dwarf, Kíli, looked remarkably like their leader, which led Bilbo to wonder if they were related. Fíli did not have much resemblance to Thorin, apart from the strong jaw and blue eyes, though it was obvious the dwarves were brothers. Judging by Fíli’s beard and Kíli’s lack of one, the blond dwarf must be the older brother.

 

They strode past him as well, shucking their boots off at Bilbo’s cheerful command, and followed Thorin into the house. One by one, the dwarves came up and introduced themselves with varying degrees of surly politeness. Dwalin and Balin came next, though the brothers seemed quite different in appearance. Balin had been the dwarf to attempt to negotiate with Bilbo back in the clearing, which made the hobbit much more willing to accept him into the house. He was quite eager to talk with the white-bearded dwarf, who seemed more worldly and wise than the rest of them.

 

His brother, on the other hand, made Bilbo a bit worried for all the tableware and furniture in the house that he had carefully crafted over the years. Large and heavily muscled, Dwalin was a hulking mass of dwarf with a bald, tattooed head and large fists the size of a bear’s paws. He had grunted his greeting, ignored the chastising elbow his brother had thrown into his side, and had pushed past the hobbit into the house, armor and axes clanking loudly with his heavy steps.

 

The brothers Ri came next, and Bilbo wondered if he’d ever met a more contrary assortment of siblings. Dori seemed to be the oldest, though that could be entirely due to the mother hen manner in which he treated his brothers. His grey braids were extremely intricate and well cared for, and his clothes seemed the tidiest and cleanest of the dwarves. He’d thanked Bilbo for welcoming them into his home and making them dinner, all the while wetting his thumb and trying to wipe dirt from his youngest brother’s cheek.

 

The second eldest was Nori, whose star-shaped hair and beard were perhaps the most memorable of the dwarves’ hairstyles. He seemed like a rather quiet fellow, something Bilbo could have appreciated, but there was a shiftiness to his eyes that made the hobbit’s instincts peak with attention. The dwarf had very nimble fingers, which he was currently using to flip a smooth stone through his fingers and around his hands. They were very quick too, Bilbo observed with some suspicion. He’d have to watch this one.

 

Ori, obviously the youngest of the brothers, seemed genuinely quiet and even a bit shy. He had a very large book clasped tightly against his chest, and his dark eyes seemed inordinately large and innocent, so much so that it made Bilbo want to grimace. Most of the clothes he wore were knitted garments, and the hobbit could see the top of a knitting needle poking out of his bags. Perhaps Bilbo could ask for a lesson in knitting before the dwarf left; he knew how to sew and quilt quite well, but he’d never really learned to knit.

 

Bombur, Bofur, and Bifur came forward next, a trio of two siblings and one cousin. Bombur was quite a large dwarf, with a bulging belly and bright red hair. His beard lay in an enormous red braid along his stomach. He had seemed quite hungry to Bilbo while he’d introduced himself, but he took the time to politely introduce himself and thank the hobbit for his hospitality, which Bilbo had very much appreciated. He’d even asked after the recipe that Bilbo had used for the stew, even though he hadn’t tasted it yet!

 

His brother Bofur had come after him, bowing with great gusto and giving the hobbit a wide dimpled grin. He was a very cheerful character with laughing brown eyes and an odd shaped hat, and Bilbo found he was smiling as he talked with him. The dwarf certainly knew how to spin a tale and get a laugh from his listeners. Bilbo remembered that he was one of the dwarves that had been on the spit, and for some reason this made the whole situation a bit more amusing.

 

Bifur was Bofur and Bombur’s cousin, and though he seemed rough he was a very friendly dwarf as well. The hair on top of his head was black as a raven’s wing, while much of his beard had turned white. He’d woven the black strands and the grey into his braids, creating an interesting pattern there. Perhaps the most obvious characteristic of the dwarf was the large axe head lodged in his forehead, though Bilbo was careful not to draw any undue attention to it or ask after it. The dwarf spoke in Khuzdul, which Bilbo could not understand, but the hobbit got the gist of the dwarf’s words by his gestures and expressions. Bofur helped translate as well, and before long the two were bustling in to grab some soup.

 

Oin and Gloin were the last dwarves to come, and both seemed eager to get inside to the warm meal awaiting them there. Oin was one of the oldest dwarves in the group, with grey hair and a braided beard (not as intricate as Dori’s, but still nice) and was rather hard of hearing. He listened through a trumpet that he placed in his ear, his own invention he’d proudly told Bilbo. He was a healer by trade, which Bilbo imagined would be quite useful in this merry band.

 

Gloin was a fiery redheaded dwarf with as fiery a temperament. He’d bowed quickly after his brother, introduced himself, and then hustled past into the house, yelling at the rest of his companions to save some food for him.

 

After all these introductions, Bilbo was a bit bemused. Thirteen dwarves, all of different ages, all with different trades. So they couldn’t be a merchant band, nor were there really enough of them to be moving to a new settlement. Plus Gandalf journeying with them could only mean an adventure of some sort. This was turning out to be more interesting than he’d ever thought.

 

Bilbo took one last cautious look out into the forest; though night had fallen and enshrouded everything in darkness, Bilbo’s keen eyes could still see the small movements of rabbits returning to their burrows to sleep, birds nestling into their nests, and the occasional fall of an orphaned leaf to the forest floor. The night seemed clear, but the hobbit still preferred to err on the side of caution. With all the unusual happenings of late, one could never be too careful, as he’d told the dwarves before.

 

He closed the door and slid the thick wooden lock into place, before turning to face the commotion at his back. A small line had formed before the large pot of soup in the fire, Bofur, Bifur, Oin, and Gloin waiting anxiously for their first serving, and Bombur most likely for his second. The other dwarves had found various seats around the small living space, Thorin and Gandalf in the armchairs by the fire, the rest sitting around the dining table drinking merrily and occasionally tossing a roll at one another. Radagast was puttering about in the kitchen making some tea while he finished his bowl of soup, Marseille and Sebastian perched upon his shoulder and looking about curiously.

 

Bilbo huffed at the mess he could already see forming on the table and gave a brief moment to worry about the beautiful table before trotting over to sit on the edge of the bench. A roll came hurtling through the air from the other side of the table, and Bilbo caught it with deft fingers, fixing Kíli with a knowing look and a smug smirk. He began breaking off parts into his mouth, vaguely listening to the buzz of conversation around him, before a voice next to him caught his attention.

 

“This soup is very good, Mister Bilbo,” said Dori from his right, as he wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin. “Thank you again for having us.”

 

“You’re quite welcome, Mister Dori,” Bilbo replied with a smile. “It’s been a while since we had guests for dinner, so it’s a pleasure to have you.”

 

“This is a…very interesting home you’ve got here,” Dori continued, obviously trying to compliment his host’s house as any good guest should, though his tone fell a bit short of appreciative. “This dining table is especially nice; very fine craftsmanship, it is. May I ask where you acquired it?”

 

“Out back,” Bilbo replied shortly, giving him an innocent look.

 

The dwarf seemed stumped at that. “’Out back,’ you say? As in out of the forest and back in Bree?”

 

“No, ‘out back’ as in ‘out the back door.’ I made it from an oak tree that had been felled by a summer storm a few years ago.” Bilbo remarked with a small smile, getting up to scoop out some soup now that the line had dispersed.

 

Once he got back to the table, Dori had composed himself from his momentary surprise and continued. “Well, it’s very nicely made, sir. These carvings are particularly exquisite. Are they of anything in particular? I see this here is a flower of some kind.”

 

Bilbo preened a bit under the praise. “Thank you, Mister Dori. It took quite a bit of time and effort to make. The carvings are different on every post. The one next to you is indeed of flowers: tulips, lilies, baby’s breath. The one next to Mister Ori here is of animals: hedgehogs, rabbits, squirrels.”

 

At this, Ori looked down curiously and then marveled at the carvings, running his fingers along the shallow edges. “These are very nicely done, Mister Bilbo,” the young dwarf murmured before looking at the hobbit shyly. “ Do you mind if I draw them? In my book, I mean.”

 

Bilbo looked at him curiously. “No, I don’t mind at all. Are you an artist then, Mister Ori?”

 

“I draw a bit,” he said hastily, pulling out his book and quill and looking intently at the table’s carvings.

 

“Don’t be so modest, Ori,” Dori said, beaming with pride at the young dwarf. “Ori’s a very talented artist. He’s been drawing since he was just a little dwarfling without a speck of hair on his chin!”

 

“Dori, stop,” Ori muttered, his face flushing red with embarrassment.

 

“I would like to see some of your drawings, if you’d be willing,” Bilbo said kindly, giving the shy dwarf a small smile.

 

Ori perked up and met Bilbo’s gaze, as if testing the honesty in that request before opening his book quickly. A few loose pages fell onto the floor, causing Ori to let out a small squeak and dive under the table to pick them up. Bilbo leaned over, intent on helping him, and picked up a few of the pages nearest him.

 

The first page was a carefully drawn and minutely detailed drawing of Kíli and Fíli, shoulder to shoulder with their swords held loosely in their hands. Kíli was grinning wildly, his other hand held akimbo. Fíli was smirking, his opposite hand holding onto the dagger hanging from his belt. The drawing was so finely done that Bilbo could see the tiny designs on Fíli’s beads and the laughter lines around Kíli’s eyes.

 

The next page was of Bofur, also looking outward from the painting as if caught in the middle of a laugh. He too was so finely rendered that Bilbo could see the smallest wrinkles in his hat, the scratched metal of his belt, and the dimples in his cheeks. He held a small carving knife in one hand and a piece of wood in another, presumably about to make something out of it.

 

“These are incredible, Mister Ori,” Bilbo said, very impressed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such attention to detail in a drawing before.”

 

Ori flushed again with pleasure, opening his mouth to speak, when his brother interrupted again.

 

“He’s also the Company scribe, a post given to him by Thorin himself! And he’s been doing so well so far, recording the events of the day dutifully every night and—“

 

“Dori,” hissed Nori warningly from his place against the wall.

 

“What?” Dori asked indignantly, turning to look at his brother.

 

“A scribe? What do you need a scribe for?” Bilbo asked curiously. Paper, quill, and ink, while not incredibly expensive, were generally considered unnecessary expenses for travelers. They were also a bit cumbersome, as the paper alone would take up space that could be given to more purposeful items and the ink would have to be bottled and handled carefully. If they were recording the journey for posterity’s sake, then they must be doing something quite interesting.

 

The dwarves around the table refused to answer, and the room had become quiet. Bilbo looked around warily, sensing the odd change in atmosphere. Radagast seemed to think so too, as he held his teacup tightly and moved closer to Bilbo, his eyes watching.

 

Gandalf harrumphed from his chair by the fire and sat up straighter, fixing Thorin a sharp look as he did so. The dwarf glared at him in return, before sighing and sinking into the comfy leather back of the chair. “Well, Bilbo,” Gandalf began. “The answer to that is also the reason I came to find you a few weeks ago. This company of dwarves is no ordinary traveling group, as I’m sure you’ve gathered. This is the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

 

Bilbo gave him a flat look that clearly said ‘ _that name means nothing to me, so what is your point_ ,’ which caused Gandalf to give a small chuckle and Thorin to scowl.

 

“There was once an ancient dwarf kingdom, settled in a lone mountain beyond the Greenwood. It was an incredibly wealthy kingdom, due to the large deposits of precious gems and—“

 

“You’re talking about Erebor, aren’t you?” Bilbo asked, looking quizzically at Gandalf. The wizard looked surprised and a bit affronted at being interrupted, but he nodded regardless.

 

“Yes, that’s right. Erebor, the Lonely Mountain. And do you know of what happened there?”

 

“My father used to have a book: a history written by a man who had lived in Dale before Erebor’s fall. I’m not sure how he came upon it, but I read it when I was younger. “ Bilbo answered rather quietly. He couldn’t see Thorin’s face as it was turned toward the fire, but the hobbit could see his hands tightened into fists and the hard line of his jaw. Many of the other dwarves had become somber as well, the heads turning down of looking out the kitchen window into the night sky.

 

“So you know of Smaug, then?” Gandalf asked, leaning back into his chair.

 

“Only as much as the man knew, which was little. A fire dragon from the north, come to take the treasure of the dwarves. And countless lives along with it.”

 

“Well, then, there’s not much to explain. You know most of what happened back then, during Erebor’s fall, and a bit about what’s happened since, I’d wager.”

 

Bilbo hummed and sent a small look at Radagast, whose countenance had become stiff and worried. His hand was petting anxiously over Marseille’s quills, about which she was not content with. His mentor had obviously seen where this line of questioning was leading as well and was not very happy about it at all.

 

“So, what exactly is it that you mean to do? Storm the mountain and take on a dragon? With just thirteen dwarves and one wizard?” Bilbo asked incredulously. At his words, a ripple went through the dwarves, some indignant at his doubt, some looking grim but determined, others completely expressionless.

 

“The dragon Smaug might not even be alive anymore! He hasn’t been seen for sixty years, nearly,” Gandalf retorted with his eyebrows raised. Bilbo realized in that moment that it had probably been Gandalf that had been the mastermind of the adventure.

 

“Look me in the eye and tell me you believe that he’s dead,” Bilbo demanded, stony faced.

 

“Come, now, Bilbo! There’s no need for such—“ Gandalf began, sounding a bit condescending, but stopped when he saw the look on the hobbit’s face. He shifted in his seat and pulled out his pipe, preparing to light it and trying to ignore him, but Gandalf discovered that a determined hobbit was an undeniable hobbit.

 

“Well, there’s no way to know for sure without going into the Lonely Mountain, which is our first objective. He could very well be dead, but…but it is best to assume he’s not,” he muttered quietly, inhaling from his pipe.

 

“Why do you need to get into the Lonely Mountain in the first place? For the treasure?” the hobbit asked, looking searchingly around at the dwarves. “Is that worth facing down a dragon? Pieces of gold and gems are worth more to you than your lives, is that it?” he cried out angrily.

 

“Do not speak as if you know, halfling,” Thorin growled from the fireplace, finally speaking. “You do not know of what my people have suffered. You do not know what it is to have a beast, a _monster_ , fly from its hell hole, come into your home, and take everything that rightfully belonged to you!” He stood up and turned to face Bilbo, his face furious and eyes flickering with the firelight. “You do not understand what it means to have your home taken from you in an instant!”

 

During this entire speech, Bilbo had begun to shake with rage, though the only others to notice were Gandalf and Radagast. His fists tightened against his sides, breath pushed from his lungs in angry bursts, his stomach felt tight and hot, as though his soup was boiling once again inside him. He felt himself stand up and turn to face _Thorin, son of Thrain_ , as though from outside of his body. He wanted to _punch_ this dwarf in the face. He wanted to get his herbal concoctions and Sightless and give this thrice-bedamned dwarf a lesson in herbal poisons and toxins that he’d live through but would never forget. And he would if he kept—

 

“Aaah!”

 

Bilbo opened his eyes in surprise at the yell, though he couldn’t remember closing them in the first place. Radagast stood before Thorin with a thunderous look on his face, his staff held in front of him and at the ready like a sword. On the end of the wizard’s staff sat a very aggravated hedgehog, Marseille, her little claws extended and her quills sticking up fiercely.

 

Bilbo reckoned the dwarf leader had never been so surprised in his life as he was right then, staring stupidly down at the hedgehog that had scratched a long line down his cheek and into his beard. Everyone in the room had stilled in shock, much the same way they had done in the clearing when Bilbo had held the sword to Thorin’s neck.

 

“Perhaps you should take your own advice, Master Dwarf, and not speak of that which _you do not know_ ,” hissed the wizard, and for the life of him, Bilbo had rarely ever seen Radagast looking as murderous as he did then. There was only one time that Bilbo could remember seeing Radagast more furious than he was right then.

 

When Radagast had found him, starved, beaten, and near death, on the outskirts of the forested area they now lived in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was not exactly what I planned for, but that's just how it goes sometimes. :D Next time, we'll be hearing about Bilbo's past (for reals this time) and more from Radagast.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse of the past with Radagast :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hello! So, this new chapter is told from Radagast's point of view and gives you a little background on his history with Bilbo. It's not very long or eventful, but it does answer a few questions. :) Not all, but some. Depending on how much work I get done, there might be another update Sunday or Monday. If not, then look to my update next weekend. :D
> 
> Disclaimer: check first chapter.

Now, Radagast was not very fond of the various beings of Middle Earth, and he’d readily admit this himself if asked. There was always something there: greed, lust, pride, ambition. Vices that the plants and animals of the forests did not have, for they had no need of gold, status, and beauty. They were innocent of the failings of men, dwarf, and elf alike. They did not judge or demean Radagast for his appearance and his admittedly plentiful eccentrics.  And so, he’d always remained contentedly in the eastern and western forestlands, the beautiful and bountiful Greenwood, only venturing out when he needed something that could not be found in the forests.

 

It was upon such an occasion that Radagast had stumbled into a person who would soon be one of his closest friends.

 

It was just after one of the harshest winters that the western lands had ever seen. He’d been spending some time in the small forest lands just west of the Misty Mountains to keep a better eye on the animals there, making sure they had plenty of food and shelter during the winter. Wolves, large and hungry, had descended into the small forest, looking to pick on the weaker squirrels and rabbits that were not hiding in their holes.

 

Radagast was a lover and protector of all animals, he liked to think, but these wolves were perhaps some of the most vile creatures the wizard had ever stumbled upon. Giant, hulking masses of muscle and dark-colored fur, these wolves had preyed upon the land with a sort of cunning malice that Radagast would have expected of orcs, not simple animals. He’d had to fight quite a few of them off the larger colonies of rabbit holes and squirrel nests, as they liked to hunt the little ones who were asleep and none-the-wiser.

 

Radagast detested these tactics as any upstanding person would. Only the cowardly and cruel prey on the weak and defenseless. And it was no trouble, really, for him to dispose of them, as he was a wizard and a rather good one, if he could say so himself. Still, the dreams these encounters had inspired, rolling nightmares of eyes as red as blood and yellowed teeth sharp as daggers, had kept him awake many a night after.

 

And it was for that reason that the wizard had been prompted to travel outside the forestlands near the Misty Mountains and make a small journey to the village of men, Bree, as he was in desperate need of some Longbottom leaf to soothe his frazzled nerves. Though he loathed to do it, Radagast had used his rabbit sleigh to take him as close as he could manage to the village without prompting undue curiosity from the men and occasional hobbits there. The sleigh was very fast and quite useful, so the wizard did not really understand why it received so many raised eyebrows and muffled snorts.

 

The weather had warmed quite a bit since the harsher days of the winter, and people were milling about the streets of Bree, looking at some of the market stalls and bargaining enthusiastically with the proprietors. Radagast had gone straight through the heart of the city, as the shop he was looking for was there and he did not like to dawdle.

 

He’d procured his Longbottom leaf without much problem, having had a long-standing arrangement with the little hobbit shop there that sold it. Living as he did in the forests, Radagast never really had any currency or gold to barter with in the markets of men, but the hobbits would gladly trade the leaf for the rare seeds the wizard would bring from over the mountains. The hobbits in Bree were perhaps the only beings he’d ever really liked, as they were very generous and loved plants as he did.

 

It was as he was leaving the village and riding his sleigh back to the small forest that he encountered some trouble.

 

Though the winter’s chill had retreated beneath the blooming of spring and the burgeoning rays of the sun, the wind was still biting and unforgiving, freezing puddles here and there along the road.  He had breathed a sigh of relief when he could see the edge of the forest, but then he caught sight of a small squirrel that had moseyed farther out than was safe for the little fellow.

 

The wizard had pulled over, thinking to give the squirrel a gentle lecture on proper safety, but he was interrupted by its anxious squeaking.

 

“What is that you say? Wolves? Attacking a little boy?” He had asked with alarm. “Well, lead me there, little one! And be quick about it too!”

 

The squirrel had led him to a clearing near the entrance to the forest, and already Radagast could hear the familiar snarls and growls of the beasts. He had stridden into the clearing without another thought, brandishing his staff with a mighty cry.

 

The three wolves had turned at this new creature, possibly thinking to make the wizard dinner as well, and had leaped forward, away from the base of the tree they had been stalking.

 

Once he’d given them a few solid and very painful smacks with his staff, they deemed him too much effort to wrangle for dinner and had retreated out of the clearing with their tails between their legs.

 

“Terrible beasts,” he’d muttered once they’d gone. He had looked around the clearing and more closely at the tree the wolves had been near when he’d entered. It was a very thick tree, a sturdy oak with wide branches and a few buds here and there as it came alive again for spring.

 

A small figure had been huddled against one of the lower branches of the tree, the dirty brown tunic and trousers blending in with the tree’s trunk. Radagast could see the pale, thin limbs of the creature, the curly hair on the head and feet matted with grime and dirt. Two eyes, dark and wary, looked over the protective curve of his skinny arm and elbow.

 

It had taken quite a bit of coaxing to get the cautious creature down from the tree limb, and perhaps he’d only been successful due to the encouraging prods of the squirrel that had first alerted him of the boy’s plight. Once he’d reached the base of the tree, his knobby knees had given out, causing Radagast to lurch forward and catch him.

 

With such a close look, Radagast had realized that the boy was in fact a young hobbit, only a few yeas over his majority. He had bruises and cuts, scars long and small along his arms turned white with age, though some remained pink and flushed. A fresh bite, bloody and shallow had been on his right arm, and it had twitched feebly where it hung by his side. The hobbit had been so light as he’d lain there in the wizard’s arms that Radagast knew he’d been starved for quite some time.

 

“Oh, my little hobbit…. What on earth has happened to you?” he’d whispered, feeling his eyes prick with tears.

 

Horrified and enraged, Radagast had whistled to draw his sleigh into the clearing and watched with concern as the hobbit’s guarded hazel eyes looked at him unblinkingly for a moment before closing, his body slacking into the wizard’s arms.

 

He had boarded the hobbit onto the sleigh, taking care to hold him firmly against his chest as he directed the rabbits from a kneeling position (which had not been easy, he’d tell you).  Once they’d reached the little hovel he stayed in when he was in these western forests, the wizard had carried the hobbit into his home and placed him onto the straw patch he used as a bed. He’d tended his patient’s wounds immediately after, resolving to go to Rivendell for help if he needed healing arts beyond his own.

 

This proved unnecessary, however, as the hobbit’s wounds had healed quite nicely under the wizard’s gentle ministrations and his herbal remedies.  Though he was not a decent cook by any definition of the word, Radagast’s meals had brought energy and substance back to the little hobbit, though he remained uncharacteristically slender for his race.

 

In those first few weeks, the hobbit had nary muttered more than a few words at a time, not even telling Radagast his name until he’d spent three weeks under the wizard’s care. Over time, though, Bilbo had seen the genuine concern that Radagast had for him and began to speak more and more, usually to ask about the medicines he applied.

 

By the time Bilbo was healthy and able to walk around again, he and Radagast had become fast friends. Radagast had begun to teach Bilbo all about the various plants of the forests and the properties that they held, happy and elated to have found an avid pupil in the hobbit. Soon enough, Bilbo’s skill and knowledge had surpassed even that of the wizard himself, though he’d been delighted at the prospect rather than annoyed as some might be. He’d even suggested that the hobbit go to Rivendell, to study under the highly skilled healers there, but the hobbit had doggedly refused and would become quite whenever Radagast hinted at the outside world.

 

Radagast was both pleased and bewildered to discover that Bilbo had a talent for woodwork and gardening, as well as healing, and when the hobbit had tentatively asked if he could make some repairs and add on a few things, Radagast had given him a resounding yes.

 

They never talked about Bilbo’s past, what had led him to that forest clearing, and why he had been in such dire straights. Bilbo had still been so shy, even fearful, of the world outside the forest and could not be pressed to talk about what he’d been through, regardless of how tentatively Radagast had tried to ask in the beginning. After a while, when the hobbit had begun to smile and laugh for the first time since Radagast had met him, the wizard had let the issue go, resolving to wait until Bilbo was ready to share.

 

Then, after a few months, Radagast had informed Bilbo that he was leaving for the eastern forestlands as he’d neglected them for far too long. At first, Bilbo had understood this to mean that he had to leave and find another place to live, but the wizard had quickly disabused him of that notion.

 

“We’re a family now, whether you like it or not,” he’d said with a soft smile. “This is as much your home as it is mine. Maybe even more so, with everything you’ve done to it.” He’d paused at Bilbo’s small smile, before continuing. “I won’t be gone for too long, my lad. I promise you that. We’ll be together again soon enough, and you’ll be scolding me about not bathing in weeks and leaving the carrots to boil for too long.”

 

Bilbo had truly smiled at that, his eyes warming as they always did when Radagast referred to him as ‘my lad.’ He’d made a feast that night in honor of his dear friend leaving for a few months, a bounty that would have rivaled the glorious banquets of kings. After the supper, the hobbit had given the wizard a small gift for his travels: a beautifully-made quilt, glistening green and warm brown, woven in soft fabrics to keep him warm at night. That had been the first time that Bilbo had allowed anyone to touch him in a long while, but as he’d relaxed into the wizard’s hug, the hobbit found he could not regret it one bit.

 

And so the years passed in much the same way. Bilbo would be left to his own devices, usually crafting furniture for their cottage or growing his vegetables while Radagast surveyed the eastern forests. The first time the wizard had come home after he’d met the hobbit, he’d discovered that two brand new additions had been added on to the little, lopsided cottage, creating two bedrooms and a pantry into the structure. A garden had also popped up in the back, complete with succulent vegetables and herbs that made for tasty dinners after a hard day’s work.

 

Bilbo had continued to make a variety of things both while Radagast was there and while he was not. He had claimed it was a way to dissuade the boredom of being alone in the house, but Radagast could tell he also found comfort in these things. He’d make quilts and blankets, tea blends of all sorts, an incredible cutlery set made out of oak, and new cabinets and cookware for the kitchen.

 

It was all rather amazing, Radagast thought, but he appreciated it all none-the-less. He’d even wondered a few times if he could ask Bilbo to do the same for his cottage in the Greenwood, but he thought that’d be rather unfair to ask the hobbit to do so much for a place he would probably never stay in. Besides, Bilbo had crafted so many things over the years that Radagast’s other home was already exponentially better than it’d ever been before.

 

During these times, Bilbo had crafted his first weapon, his blowpipe named Sightless, and had practiced voraciously with it, as Radagast had discovered when he’d returned that following month. He’d also created his armor during that time, the cunning mesh of leather and leaf that gave him near perfect camouflage abilities. The first time Radagast had come back after that, he’d been scared near out of his trousers when an ordinary tree near their cottage had suddenly sprouted hazel eyes and a grinning mouth.

 

It was only after the creation of these two items, Sightless and his armor, that Bilbo had dared to venture out into the surrounding villages and cities. The first few times, the hobbit had gone with Radagast and had spent most of the time there walking in the wizard’s shadow through the shops that sold the various items they were after. After a while of this, he had gathered his courage and gone on his own, taking a few items with him to be sold or traded there to earn some coin.

 

Radagast knew the hobbit still harbored a deep distrust of the other beings of the realm, in particular men and other hobbits, but the wizard was so proud of how he’d grown and become braver with time. Bilbo was his son and friend in everything but blood, and he cared for the hobbit dearly. He’d grown into a very handsome hobbit, an agile fighter and craftsman, an amazing healer, and even a bit of a trickster. He’d have never expected the emaciated, bruised and battered lad he’d saved from ravaging wolves to turn into the quick-witted, mischievous, and friendly hobbit that he loved today.

 

So when Gandalf and his grumbling band of dwarves had waltzed into their forest and had stirred up some trouble, he’d been concerned about how Bilbo might take the presence of so many strangers into his sanctuary. But the hobbit had been a perfect host and had even made up one of his special vegetable soups for the occasion!

 

Everything had been going so well, until that idiot dwarf, prince or not, had really put his foot in it, throwing around accusations and acting as if he were the only one in the room to have suffered misfortunes in his life. He’d been in front of the dwarf with his staff raised before he’d realized he’d moved at all, and Marseille was right there with him, reaching out a glorious paw and giving that dwarf what for!

 

Bilbo had invited them into his home, had made them a delicious dinner, and this was how the arrogant dwarf chose to repay him! Well, Radagast refused to stand for such rudeness. Not when it was his hobbit being treated so. No, sir, he would not!

 

After he and Marseille had put that dwarf, Thrin or Thorn or something, in his place, he’d given Gandalf a glare that would have sent those horrible winter wolves he’d faced so long ago running with tails tucked and whines called at first sight. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bilbo walk toward the front door, passing close enough that he gave the wizard a touch of thanks on his back, before leaving the cottage quietly.

 

With that, he turned toward Gandalf, his eyes uncharacteristically sharp and forbidding. He knew why the wizard was here, why he looked at Bilbo with such calculating eyes. Well, he’d not be swindling Bilbo into his mad quests if the hobbit did not wish to go. That Radagast would swear to.

 

When they’d moved away to talk, leaving the dwarfs to their stupefied silence, Radagast had not expected to hear what Gandalf had to say about Bilbo or what the grey wizard had found when he’d entered the Shire weeks before, looking for a burglar for his adventure.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment if it pleases ya! :) Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hello! :) So, this chapter will be the last one here in Bilbo and Radagast's cottage! The story will begin to speed up, I promise. It's still a slow build, though, because I really want to explore this. Anyway, let me know what you think and thank you for reading!!! :)

That same night…

 

“Ah! Here you are, Bilbo.”

 

Bilbo turned his head to fix Gandalf with a look of knowing caution. He’d been seated on the porch step for nearly an hour now, waiting for his heart and nerves to settle. The company of dwarves inside had long since settled down, talking in muted conversations that Bilbo could hear from the open kitchen window. They had not stormed out of the cottage after the upstart hobbit in the tumultuous clamor that he had expected, though perhaps their murmured conversations were due to lingering shock.

 

Bilbo himself was still a bit boggled by what had transpired in the little cottage. Sure, he and Radagast had become each other’s protectors over the past few years, to the best of their abilities at any rate. But Radagast was not the kind of wizard to make threats (though on the occasions he did, they were certainly not _idle_ ) or intentionally stir up a ruckus, like some _other_ _wizards_ were known to do. He had a fiery heart and great compassion, but the animal-loving wizard had always preferred peaceful conversations, however awkward they turned out to be. He was a negotiator, a peacemaker; he had never liked arguments or petty squabbles or wars. That was part of the reason he had retreated from the outside world.

 

For him to threaten a dwarf in such a way for Bilbo’s sake…it made a warmth swell up in his chest for the quirky wizard.

 

“You’re a rather hard hobbit to find,” Gandalf commented in casual tones, taking a seat next to Bilbo on the shallow step. His legs were long enough that he could use a nearby tree root as a footrest. “I’ve been looking for you for some time now.”

 

“Yes, well, I’ve had a number of reasons to become good at hiding,” Bilbo said shortly, turning his face away and looking out into the darkness of the forest.

 

“So I’ve gathered,” Gandalf replied, pulling out his pipe and lighting it.

 

“And why exactly have you been looking for me, Gandalf? Going to draw me into this mad quest you’ve set them on, were you?” Bilbo countered accusingly, looking at the wizard from the corner of his eye.

 

“Not everything I do has ulterior motives, Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf said indignantly, giving the wily hobbit a severe look. “For all you know, I was coming to see you to inquire about your health and the goings-on of the past few years!”

 

“Oh? So that was your only reason, then? To check in with Belladonna Took’s son and have a cup of tea and a plate of scones?” Bilbo asked sarcastically, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

 

“Well…I might have had a proposition for you to consider as well,” The wizard finished, looking a bit sheepish. “I certainly wasn’t going to harangue you into going on an adventure against your will! I just thought you might be…amenable to going off into the world, seeing those places your mother always told you stories about as a little hobbitling.”

 

Bilbo wondered for a moment what that would have been like: a wizard popping up on his doorstep after years and years of habitual living, of eating his meals and reading his books, of visiting other hobbit neighbors and going to the market. An old friend of his mother’s come to set him off on a wild adventure with a strange group of surly dwarves, nary a care for his propriety or his standing in the Shire. It would have been ridiculous: the talk of the town, even! _But_ … Bilbo thought sadly _, it might have been a bit amazing as well_.

 

“I certainly didn’t expect to find two strangers in Bag End, who had neither a word nor care for the young hobbit that used to be its host,” Gandalf continued lowly, watching carefully as the hobbit stiffened.

 

Bilbo said nothing to this. Since that day he had been forced from his home and left to wonder the streets, he had sworn to never talk about it. To never tell anyone the circumstances that had brought him here, living peacefully and contentedly with Radagast. He’d not even told the other wizard, his closest friend, the real reason he had been wondering about the forest that time. Bilbo didn’t think he could bear the pity or scorn he might find there. Not that he thought Radagast would ever judge him; Bilbo was just so thankful, so protective of the life he held now, that he could not bear the thought of endangering it.

 

“Bilbo…I know it’s not my business, nor is it my place to ask. I also don’t believe you’d tell me, even if I did. But I want you to know that…should you ever need to or want to talk about what happened, I’m here,” Gandalf finished kindly, placing a large warm hand on Bilbo’s shoulder.

 

Bilbo controlled the flinch that was a natural reaction for anyone but Radagast touching him and looked up at Gandalf with guarded eyes. He could tell the wizard was curious but also honest in his words. Bilbo wondered why he even wanted to know or what he would do with the information if he had it, but he put these thoughts to the side for now. Gandalf had _not_ promised not to pry into the hobbit’s past but had simply offered his ear, should Bilbo decide to give it willingly. And as the hobbit had no intention of doing such, he decided to change the subject.

 

“So, what was your ulterior motive for coming out here and talking to me? And don’t quibble like that, I know you have one,” Bilbo questioned, making an effort to sound a bit playful.

 

Gandalf had looked at him solemnly for a moment before harrumphing in amusement. “I’m surprised you haven’t already guessed, as you seem to see through everything else I’ve put before you.”

 

Bilbo grimaced. “You want me to join the Company, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, I do. And I rather think you want to, as well.”

 

Bilbo gave a small huff and looked at the wizard smoking lazily on his pipe. “I’d think you’d be a bit more careful about making assumptions of me, after what happened to Master Oakenshield.”

 

Gandalf gave a bark of laughter. “That’s right! Oh my dear fellow, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that dwarf as stunned as he was with that little creature in his face. Thorin Oakenshield, felled by a hedgehog!” His laughter cantered off into the night, and Bilbo swore he could hear a familiar, aggravated growl through the window. “Yes, that was most amusing for me. Most amusing, indeed. And fair too, I should think.”

 

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, the wizard’s chuckling re-emerging every now and then from around his pipe. Gandalf drew in a deep breath before releasing the smoke, the thick grey wisps forming into three butterflies that drifted around the wizard’s pointed hat. Bilbo himself could do a few very nice rings when he took to the pipe, but his skill level was not near that of Gandalf’s. In another time, he might’ve been jealous.

 

“He’s not the most diplomatic of dwarves,” Gandalf began, choosing his words with care. “And certainly one of the most stubborn I’ve ever met, to be sure. But the tale of the dwarves after Erebor’s fall was one of much sorrow and hardship. Certainly, Thorin had no right to make assumptions of you or about your past, but neither was it your right to criticize the dwarves in the manner that you did.”

 

Bilbo did not reply to this soft reproof, though his head did bow slightly.

 

“Most dwarves place a good deal of value on gold; this is true. However, the company of dwarves inside your cottage at the moment are much more than that. Just as you have proven that you are no mere hobbit to prize food and comforts above all things, neither are they simple dwarves that only place worth in treasures. Thorin Oakenshield has been called a great many things in his time, but never has it been said that he values wealth over the lives of his people.”

 

Bilbo let that thought simmer in his mind, feeling guilt unsettle his stomach. Perhaps he had been a bit hasty to judge the dwarves. Gandalf was perfectly right in his words, and that knowledge made Bilbo fight against squirming uncomfortably in his seat on the step.

 

Certainly Thorin seemed rude and arrogant from the very start, but the rest of the dwarves had seemed rather pleasant, especially after they had had a bowl of Bilbo’s vegetable soup. Dori had been very polite, had thanked him for his hospitality, and had even complimented him on the dining table. Ori, as well, had seemed very nice to Bilbo, though a bit timid. Fíli and Kíli both seemed like the practical jokers of the group and were liable to destroy some of Bilbo’s handcrafted dishes, but they had been friendly enough. Bofur, Bombur, and Balin, too, had been friendly to Bilbo.

 

So, not all the dwarves were as prickly as Thorin Oakenshield had proved himself to be. However, the fact that all of these dwarves, from different walks of life as far as Bilbo could tell, had chosen to follow Thorin on this dangerous, quite probably life-threatening adventure to reclaim Erebor, that…well, that meant something in the dwarf leader’s favor, at the very least.

 

“Alright, alright,” Bilbo muttered in exasperation, giving Gandalf a rueful look. “I admit that perhaps an apology is owed on my part as well. You can stop lecturing me like I’ve only just grown hair on my feet. I’ll deliver it before the night’s over or in the morning. Such a stubborn fellow….”

 

“Very good, then,” Gandalf clapped as he stood, brushing the dirt from the step off his clothes. “These things are best dealt with quickly. No sense in creating lingering tension while traveling on the road, yes?”

 

Bilbo looked up at him sharply. “And what exactly are you on about now? There would not be any ‘lingering tension’ because there will not be any ‘traveling on the road.’ At least, not on my part. No, you all will be off in the morning, and I’ll likely never see any of you again. Actually, no, given my luck, I probably will see you again, Gandalf.” He snorted rather darkly.

 

“Certainly, my dear hobbit. I’m sure you’re right. My mistake,” He placated before walking back inside the cottage. But there had been a twinkle in his eye, shining like one of the stars above, as though the wizard knew something Bilbo did not. The thought made the hobbit simultaneously anxious and defensive.

 

As Bilbo was shaking off the premonitory shiver that the wizard’s words had induced, the front door opened again, and another figure stepped out onto the porch. The hobbit was surprised to see Thorin Oakenshield himself, face so stiff it could have been carved out of stone that very morning, emerging from the warm light cast by the cottage’s fire within.

 

“Master Baggins, if I may have a word?” he asked, striving to be polite though his voice was just one octave up from a growl.

 

“You may,” Bilbo replied shortly, looking curiously up at the dwarf. He did not move from his seat on the step and felt a familiar amusement well up as the dwarf seemed to falter, unsure of where to sit. Finally, the dwarf simply stood stiff-backed against the front door, like a jailer guarding his prisoners. 

 

They measured each other in silence. Bilbo rather wanted to see how long the dwarf would stand there, waiting imperiously for the lowly hobbit to speak first, but he’d taken Gandalf’s gentle reprimand to heart. He had just begun to open his mouth when Thorin broke the quiet.

 

“It has come to my attention that my actions toward you have been…less than polite,” The dwarf said gruffly, staring down at Bilbo. The hobbit in question choked down the smarting retort that had run through his mind with some difficulty. “Despite your behavior in the clearing earlier today, you have proven yourself to be a tolerable host by welcoming us into your…cottage and giving us palatable food for dinner. While the accommodations are not the best--”

 

_Tolerable?! Palatable?!_

 

“Excuse me,” Bilbo cried out in indignation. “Did you just describe my delicious vegetable soup as ‘ _palatable’_?! I’ll have you know that that soup was made by vegetables grown out of my personal garden! As well as the herbs that gave it the decadent and rich flavor that it has!”

 

Thorin opened his mouth to interrupt, seeming very surprised at the outraged and practically bristling hobbit, who had shot to his feet and lifted a finger threateningly in his face.

 

“And I’ll have you know that I used to be one of the best gardeners in the Shire! My tomatoes won first prize in the market festival! First prize! I was one of the youngest hobbits to ever win that prize! And those tomatoes in that soup you just had three servings of—yes, I _did_ notice that, thank you very much—were carefully raised and tendered from these same prize-winning hands!”

 

Bilbo had to stop to take a breath, during which Thorin tried to interrupt him again. “Master Baggins, I—“

 

“No,” Bilbo said with heated command. “No, you will not interrupt. ‘ _Tolerable host’_?! Where on earth do you get off—that’s one of the most inappropriate—who have you been staying with that would allow such rude--! I can’t even—“ Bilbo broke off angrily, pushing his hands into his hair and breathing deeply through his nose. “If I were just a ‘ _tolerable host_ ,’ Master Oakenshield, I would have scolded the lot of you like little dwarflings when you all began throwing food and tracking mud all around my cottage! I would have given you the smallest beddings, the most threadbare blankets, and the flattest pillows that I could find! I would have tossed you all out on your arses when you began shouting and making judgments about me!

 

“But I did not and will not do those things, Thorin Oakenshield. I welcomed you all into my home and let you go about your food frivolity at your leisure, resolving to clean the mess up myself later. I prepared some of my best hand-made quilts and pillows for you all to sleep on and made sure that they were all clean and fresh despite that you’re going to get troll smell all over them! And I am letting you stay in my warm, relatively safe cottage despite your actions earlier this evening. Because I am a _great_ host, Master Dwarf, and I’ll have you remember that,” Bilbo finished, slightly out of breath. His face was flushed hot with anger and frustration, and his heart was beating too fast in his chest.

 

Thorin seemed more exhausted than stunned by this, which could possibly be explained by the remarkable amount of times he’d already been shocked into silence that day. His hands fisted at his sides, and his body was held very stiffly. His blue eyes watched the hobbit carefully and steadfastly, as if anticipating the hobbit’s next attack or scolding. The dwarf stayed this way for a long moment as Bilbo calmed down, before he seemed to deflate, his shoulders falling.

 

“It seems I have insulted you unduly,” he began, his eyes turning downward. “Admittedly…my words before, that you have taken such umbrage to, were not…appropriate. I was less than polite, and that was undeserved.”

 

He straightened his shoulders once more, looking grim and tired. “If my presence offends you so, as it appears it does, then I will camp out here tonight and not bother you any longer. My company would be glad to clean up any messes made, and—“

 

“Stop, stop,” Bilbo said quietly, suddenly feeling rather exhausted himself. He’d not had a rant like that in a very longtime; this dwarf was proving to be quite a handful. “There’s no need for that. Can we—can we just—“ He sighed and sat back down on the step, pulling his pipe out of his pocket. He looked back up at Thorin, who was watching him warily. “Would you sit with me?”

 

Thorin hesitated for a moment but eventually sat down next to the hobbit, pulling out his own pipe. A weary breath was expelled from his lungs in a long rush. They sat side by side in silence for a few moments, simply enjoying their pipes, when Bilbo looked hesitantly over at Thorin.

 

“Look, I believe we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here, much of which is probably my fault. It was not very nice of me to tease you all after saving you from the trolls. So, I am sorry for doing that and for, well, holding a sword to your throat in a threatening manner,” Bilbo finished rather lamely, giving the dwarf a small lopsided smile.

 

“No, I—I probably still would have been rude to you, despite the mocking,” Thorin admitted with a grimace. “The entire situation became incredibly out of hand, and if you had not done whatever it was that you did to kill the trolls, we might not have all survived that and come out unharmed…. My wounded pride prevented me from saying so before, but thank you for saving my company, Master Baggins.”

 

When he turned to meet Bilbo’s gaze, his eyes were very solemn and sincere. Bilbo shifted uncomfortably in his spot, feeling a bit abashed.

 

“I’ve been protecting this forest and its travelers for a while now; it’s become something of a duty of mine, so no need for thanks, really. It was my pleasure to help…but you’re welcome, I suppose,” Bilbo trailed off awkwardly, breathing in from his pipe and blowing out a perfect grey ring. “And I’m sorry for…for being so negative about your quest. It’s certainly not my place to judge you all. Clearly you feel very strongly about this, or you would not tempt the danger of a dragon. It was insensitive of me to say the things I did after dinner.”

 

“I can understand your incredulity,” Thorin replied, looking bemusedly into the darkness. “There were many others who balked at our determination; even a few of my kin thought us mad to try for it. But my people have been wanderers for so long, forced from one city of man to another to work as blacksmiths, merchants, toymakers, even criminals, just to support their families and to get by…. I seized upon this hope as a means of relieving their suffering and bringing prosperity amongst us once more. If we manage to take back Erebor, my people need never starve or drift, homeless and defeated, again. We would use the vast wealth of our legacy there to rebuild the Lonely Mountain into its former glory. Everyone would share in the wealth of the mountain.”

 

Bilbo suddenly realized why Gandalf had seemed so sure that Bilbo would join their quest. It was the passion in this dwarf’s eyes, the forged iron of his will, and the small trace of desperate hope in his words. The determination in Thorin’s eyes then was impossible to look away from, and that fire resonated deep within the hobbit, in a place of his heart buried in haunted memories and years of longing made bitter by despair. He recognized that fervent desire to reclaim what has been lost as easily as if it were his own.

 

“I believe I understand you a bit better now,” Bilbo said softly, and Thorin seemed to pull out of his thoughts at his voice.

 

“And yet I am still waiting to be surprised by you, Master Baggins,” the dwarf said, and Bilbo was heartened to hear the amusement in his voice. “I also wish to make amends for the words I spoke after dinner. Your wizard was right; I do not know anything about you, except that you are a good cook. I hope that you will forgive my words.”

 

“Oh, so I’m a good cook now?” Bilbo replied teasingly. “I thought my food was merely ‘palatable’?”

 

Even in the dim light, Bilbo thought he could see a small blush bloom on the dwarf’s cheeks, where not covered by dark hair. “I might have been speaking out of bruised pride when I spoke earlier. Had I known how vehemently you would react, I would have taken better care.”

 

“Oh, really now?” Bilbo questioned with a sly grin. “It is a very great offense to insult a hobbit’s food and even more so to call one a poor host.”

 

“I did not say you were a ‘poor host,’” Thorin protested weakly, though he looked away quickly when Bilbo shot him a ‘ _you and I both know exactly what you meant by ‘tolerable’_ look.  

 

“Seriously, though,” Bilbo continued. “The only insult worse than those two just mentioned would be to call a hobbit a ‘soft-footed’ or ‘slow-footed.’ That’s about as insulting as it gets: practically a declaration of war.”

 

“Really? So serious?” Thorin asked bemusedly.

 

“Indeed. If you’d have called me that, well, I would have used said feet to kick you right out of this forest. If only to prove their strength and tenacity.”

 

Thorin snorted. “Well, I will certainly take care to remember that in the future, should I encounter anymore hobbits…. You certainly do not mince words, Master Baggins.”

 

“I do not see the point in it,” Bilbo offered with a shrug. “Anyway, now that we’ve established that you grievously insulted me, I believe you’re going to have to make amends in the form of telling me what you really thought of my vegetable soup.”

 

Thorin grunted, turning his face away from the grinning hobbit on his right. “It was good,” he said gruffly.

 

“Just good? Because back in the Shire, when you eat more than three servings of something, that food is considered delicious.”

 

“Just good,” Thorin mumbled petulantly.

 

“Mmmhmmm…” Bilbo hummed, looking knowingly at the dwarf but letting the conversation drop.  “Well, I accept your apology, Master Oakenshield, if you will accept mine.”

 

“I do.” Thorin said simply, giving the hobbit a small smile that made Bilbo glad for the dimness of the porch that concealed the blush on his face. Goodness, but he was handsome when he smiled….

 

 They elapsed into a bit silence again, before Bilbo stood up, brushing the dust from his trousers.

 

“It’s about time to be turning in, I believe,” Bilbo said jovially. “I’ve got quite a few quilts and pillows to prepare, you see.”

 

Thorin huffed ruefully, moving to stand by the door as well. “Thank you, Master Baggins, for your hospitality. Our bedrolls and coats should be enough, if it’s a trouble.”

 

“Oh, no trouble at all, really. I’ve made too many anyway. There are so many in the bedding chest that it nearly won’t close anymore.” Bilbo waved his hand complacently, giving the tired dwarf a small smile.

 

“Master Baggins,” Thorin said quietly as Bilbo reached for the door handle. When the hobbit looked back at him questioningly, the dwarf hesitated for a moment, before saying: “In the clearing with the trolls, you were quite skilled. Though I do not know what weapon you used, you obviously have very keen sight and can be invisible and undetectable when you desire it…. You would make a good burglar. Should you change your mind about our quest…we would be glad to have you.”

 

And with that, Thorin opened the front door, holding it open for a rather shocked Bilbo to walk ahead of him. They separated then, the dwarf heading over to talk with Balin and Dwalin most likely about what had just transpired with the hobbit, who was beginning to gather the aforementioned quilts and pillows from the chest.

 

After making sure the dwarves had enough bedding to be comfortable, Bilbo left the living space and moved toward his room, taking a moment to peak in on Radagast who had already retired. The wizard was slumped against his pillows, still completely dressed on top of the covers and with two sleepy hedgehogs in his lap. Bilbo’s heart warmed at the sight, and he carefully draped Radagast’s quilt, the one the hobbit had made special for him a few years prior, around his sleeping family before retreating to his room quietly.

 

As Bilbo himself got ready for bed, checking Sightless and his herbs in their box and putting his sleep clothes on, he wondered about the proposition given to him by Thorin. Despite their somewhat rocky start, there was a definite possibility for a good friendship there, between Thorin and Bilbo. Once they’d got over their hasty judgments and anger, they’d actually had something of a decent conversation.  He’d even managed to get him to blush, which had been rather adorable on such a masculine, sour-faced dwarf!

 

But to join them…to go on this dangerous quest with them…to fight a dragon for goodness’ sakes! It all seemed like madness! _Life-threatening, nonsensical, completely exciting madness_ ….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I've uprooted the timeline, the manner of Bilbo and Thorin's meeting is different. Bilbo has already proven himself to be a decent fighter (assassin, really) so Thorin is not so skeptical and critical of him as he is in canon. My Bilbo also commands more respect than canon, so the nature of their relationship will obviously be different. I'm writing this with the intention that they will grow into a romance through a flirty friendship. :) Because Bilbo as a flirt is adorable. 
> 
> Anyway, if you have any burning questions (though an author will keep her secrets muhahaha) or really like this chapter, leave a comment below! You all are really great readers, and I really appreciate all the support you give. :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So, Happy late Valentine's Day! :P The plot's moving along, but we're going to be spending a few chapters in Rivendell because that place is awesome. :) Anyway, it's late, but I still think I caught most of my mistakes. Hope you enjoy!

The next morning found Bilbo up early and bustling away in the kitchens, making a few more batches of buttered rolls and scones and cooking up a few eggs. He’d never had to make quite so large a breakfast spread before, but the hobbit was not likely to get so many visitors at once again, so he figured he might as well go all out. He’d have to make another run to Bree’s market soon; these dwarves were eating him out of home and pantry!

 

Said dwarves were still in various slumbering positions in the living room, a few snoring loud enough Bilbo wondered at the others being able to sleep through it. Most of the younger dwarves had slept on their bedrolls on the floor, covered in Bilbo’s handmade quilts and drooling on the pillows. The hobbit could tell they’d fallen asleep in their family groups. Bombur, Bofur, and Bifur snuggled under three blankets in a corner of the room. Fíli and Kíli were sprawled on the ground near the fireplace, their legs occasionally kicking each other. The brothers Ri lay slouched against the wall, using their pillows as back support and resting their heads on each other’s shoulders.

 

Balin and Oin had taken the comfy armchairs next to the fireplace, most likely out of respect for their age, while Gloin sat at the foot of his brother’s armchair, his head bent at an impossibly uncomfortable angle. Thorin and Dwalin were not in the room at all; though when the hobbit peered out of the kitchen, he could see twin smoke trails curling into the early morning air.

 

Bilbo knew that the delicious smell of breakfast would be waking the lot of them soon, so he hastened to grab the clean plates from the cabinets. He’d been quite pleasantly surprised to discover earlier that morning that the dwarves had indeed cleaned up the table, their plates and bowls, and the utensils used the night before. Perhaps they were not so uncouth as Bilbo had thought.

 

Just as he was pulling the rolls out of the little oven, the dwarves began to stir, no doubt smelling the buttery scent of the rolls and the eggs. The front door opened, and Dwalin and Thorin came in, careful to close the door quietly in case of any late sleepers. They looked toward the kitchen and spotted the steaming breakfast on the counter before quickly making their way over to grab plates and food.

 

“Good morning! Would any of you like a cup of tea?” Bilbo asked politely, watching with amusement at the bleary eyed gazes of the dwarves hoisting themselves off the floor and moseying into the kitchen.

 

“That would be much appreciated, Master Baggins,” Thorin answered for his company, giving the hobbit a small, grateful smile.

 

Bilbo nodded cheerfully at that and set about pulling cups from the cabinets and boiling a large pot of tea by the fire. As he dithered here and there preparing his own special herbal blend for the dwarves, he noticed the tentative air that some of the dwarves carried as they looked covertly between Bilbo and Thorin, as if waiting for a battle to break out.

 

It tempted Bilbo to smirk as throughout their breakfast he would bring Thorin tea, exchange pleasantries, accept thanks for his cooking, all very polite and genial, while the dwarves surrounding them stepped gingerly around conversation. When Radagast had come out of his room, rubbing his eyes sleepily and with two little hedgehogs curled in his arms, they’d become even more awkward than previous, as if the appearance of the wizard would cause their leader to rage. However, the dwarf in question only nodded politely at the wizard, who had waved a few fingers in return, before turning back to his conversation with Balin about the day’s plans.

 

 They’d mostly finished gulping down their tea with small grimaces and devouring their scones when Gandalf walked through the front door and smiled bemusedly at the company, as if he’d not spent the night in the cottage. Which he might not have; Bilbo certainly had no idea. It was beyond his ability to keep track of a wizard like Gandalf. Radagast was much more predictable.

 

“Well, I trust you’ve all had a good night’s rest?” The wizard asked, sounding amused. The dwarves responded with their customary grumbles and early morning grunts, though their eyes were becoming considerably less drowsy. “I thought we’d investigate that troll hoard before we moved on. There’s bound to be a few interesting items in there that could prove useful.”

 

Thorin thought about that for a moment before giving a firm nod of his head. “A quick search, though. We need to pass over the plains before nightfall.”

 

Gandalf hummed in agreement, though Bilbo thought he saw the wizard’s eyes narrow and his frown become a bit mulish. The hobbit wondered at that for a moment but resolved to forget. It’s not as if it’s his business anyway; he’s not likely to see them again as he’s not going with them…. Right?

 

He’d thought about it for a long while the night before, tempted by the prospect of adventure and the possible friendships he could make with these curious dwarves, but Bilbo had also realized he was still hesitant to venture out into the world again. Traveling to nearby Bree was certainly not a great journey nor was it the most dangerous, and yet it had taken him years to be brave enough to go there. Thorin and his company… they were traveling over the Misty Mountains, through the Greenwood, and to Erebor, where a bloody dragon slept and hoarded all of their gold!

 

 _That is…quite out of my comfort zone_ , Bilbo thought.

 

In addition, who would look after his little cottage and the small forest here? Radagast already had his hands full with the Greenwood, which was showing signs of a growing sickness and a spreading darkness in its shades and glens. He would not be able to look after the travelers here as Bilbo did. The wizard had to protect the animals and wildlife there as well as discover what was causing all of that decay. Goodness only knows what lies at the center of all that.... Nothing good, that’s for sure. Just the thought of it made Bilbo’s chest tight with worry for his beloved friend.

 

Radagast was also really quite terrible at gardening and keeping the house clean. The hobbit shuddered at what he might come home to, if he left the cottage in the wizard’s care. Undoubtedly, there would be dirt and dried stains all over the floors and armchairs, most of which would be from the birds Radagast brings in under his hat (even though Bilbo has tried and tried again to stop him from doing that, the damned wizard). He wouldn’t be able to finish the carvings in his bedroom or the new bedside table that he’d begun a few days ago. His herbs and vegetables would probably be eaten by rabbits; the little rascals were always after his tomatoes and carrots.

 

And what about bandits or thieves wandering along the Great East Road? They liked to prey on the travelers and the caravans passing through there, in the middle of the night. Bilbo nowadays would keep an eye out for them and get rid of the crooks when he found them, but he would no longer be able to do that if he went away with the company. They might even find his little cottage and pillage it while it was undefended! _His home stolen again_ ….

 

Yes, there were plenty reasons that Bilbo could think of not join this grumpy band of dwarves on their insane quest.

 

He still went with them to see the troll hoard, though. After all, it _was_ in his territory of the forest, and _he_ had been the one to defeat the trolls, so really he should get to see the treasures they’d stolen from their unfortunate victims. There’s no harm in that at all.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps he’d placed a bit too much interest in the potential of the troll hoard.

 

Bilbo sighed in boredom from his place beside the cave’s entrance, completely uninterested in the gold coins, cups, and ancient swords within. At least half of the company was digging through the smelly piles of loot inside while the rest milled about outside, sharpening weapons and smoking a bit of pipe weed. The hobbit was starting to wish he’d gone with Radagast, who had volunteered to take a perimeter check through the forest and along the road to make sure the company was safe to travel. At least then he’d be moving around and surveying the land, which would be much more interesting than watching these dwarves (and one wizard) moon over stolen tokens.

 

“Not your thing, eh?” asked a dwarf as he emerged from the cave, bringing with him a waft of disgusting troll smell. Bilbo’s nose wrinkled.

 

“Not even the slightest, though I’d have thought you’d have figured that out last night,” Bilbo retorted jokingly. “Bofur, right?”

 

“Aye, that’s me,” Bofur grinned, his dimples flashing under his curled mustache. “We’ll be talking about that scene for ages, I reckon. Though I doubt any would believe it. I wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

 

“Really? You’re going to include that in the account of your quest?” Bilbo snorted amusedly, wondering how much agony Ori had undergone struggling to write that scene with due respect to Thorin.

 

“Oh, no. There’s no way that’s lasting in the final book that Ori’s writing, assuming all goes well. He’d be too afraid to offend the King,” Bofur said with a shrug, pulling out a block of wood and carving away the time. “The rest of us will keep the story alive though. It’s not every day you see someone stand up to Thorin, much less a wizard and a wee hedgehog. It’ll be a good reminder after all this that Thorin’s as much a dwarf as the rest of us.”

 

Bilbo watched him curiously. “You seem much less intimidated by him than many of the company,” he observed.

 

Bofur shrugged ruefully, though his dark brown eyes seemed guarded. “We suffered all the same, after Erebor fell, Thorin included. We became a lot closer as a people than we would have, if not for the Great Calamity that was Smaug.”

 

Bilbo only hummed thoughtfully at that, turning his eyes back to the sea of trees and plant life, before Bofur drew his attention again by giving a small clap to his knee and standing up to face the hobbit.

 

“But enough of that. I really wanted to thank you for having us last night,” the dwarf said with a wide smile. “The food was really delicious, and I reckon Bombur’s going to miss those tasty little rolls once we’re back on the road again. He’s a good cook as well, so he was interested in talking with you about your recipes, but my brother’s a bit shy.”

 

“Certainly, certainly,” Bilbo said graciously. “It was an interesting experience to be sure. I’m glad you enjoyed my cooking, and I’d be glad to share my recipes with him. We’d better do it soon, though, as I do not imagine you will be lingering here much longer.”

 

“Oh! But I thought you were joining us, Master Baggins,” Bofur exclaimed, stowing his small knife and piece of wood away in his pack.

 

“Joining you? No, no, I—well, I decided it would not be the best idea,” Bilbo stammered, feeling awkward. “I have responsibilities here, after all, and I can’t just leave my cottage for months on end, and….” He mumbled a few more reasons, trying not to seem affected by the small disappointment on the friendly dwarf’s face.

 

“I understand, I guess. I’d just thought…I mean, we’ve all been talking about it…but that’s fine,” Bofur trailed off, looking over at his brother, who was searching lazily through his bag. “Right. Anyway, thank you for your hospitality, and if you could thank the wizard for me as well, I’d be grateful,” he said while summoning up a small grin. “He’s a pretty interesting fellow, even if he’s…a bit odd.”

 

“Why do you say that?” Bilbo questioned teasingly, making his voice sound a bit indignant. The dwarf’s cheeks flushed.

 

“Well, his clothes are all covered in dirt and what I’m pretty sure was…bird droppings. Not to mention his unusual hat.”

 

Bilbo snorted, casting a pointed look at the winged hat on top of the dwarf’s head. “Are you really one to judge, Master Bofur?”

 

Bofur spluttered good-naturedly, reaching a hand up to straighten the hat in question. “Come one now, this here’s a family heirloom! It’s a perfectly upstanding hat! My dad wore it before me, and his father before him, and—“

 

“Yes, yes, it’s got a long line of lineage,” Bilbo chuckled. “Perhaps the fashion’s outdated then. Oh! Gandalf’s calling me. Got to go!” He slid away from the dwarf, who was calling out objections to that last remark, and made his way over to the worrisome grey wizard near the cave’s entrance.

 

Bilbo did not make a whole lot of fuss when the wizard pressed a small elvish dagger onto him, insisting that he might need it in the future, though he felt a bit at a loss for what he was supposed to do with it or what he might even need it for. He used Sightless and his concoctions for a reason: long range shooting capabilities, which allowed for quick, safe, and relatively painless victories. Using such a close range weapon as a dagger seemed more like a last resort than a suitable weapon. Just the idea of it made Bilbo’s palms sweat.

 

He made his way back over to the other dwarves, noticing that the group that had been investigating the troll hoard had finally withdrawn. Thorin and Gandalf, he noticed, both had new swords hanging from their belts: long, shining swords with intricate blue and silver scabbards and hilts. Elvish swords.

 

 _Well, consider me surprised_ , Bilbo thought, bemused. Thorin’s actually using an elvish blade rather than his own? Perhaps the dwarf was not as prejudiced as he had believed. Or maybe he had realized the actual worth of the sword and had swallowed his pride for practicality’s sake.

 

Bilbo thought about that for a moment, eying the sword hanging from Gandalf’s waist before letting the idea drop out of his thoughts. Despite their relatively amiable conversation the night before, Bilbo reckoned he still did not know enough about Thorin Oakenshield to hazard a guess on that.

 

“Gandalf! Bilbo! Trouble! Lots of trouble ahead!”

 

Bilbo turned around with alarm as Radagast crashed into the small clearing on his rabbit sleigh, his eyes wild and worried.

 

“What is it, Radagast?” Bilbo asked, quickly stepping forward to lay a calming hand on the agitated wizard.

 

“Wargs! Scouring the plains up ahead. And an orc pack not far on their trail!” Radagast answered quickly, looking very troubled and confused at this information.

 

“What in Durin’s name is going on?” Thorin growled, turning to Gandalf with a suspicious glare.

 

“Why else would an orc pack be searching the Great East road?” Gandalf thundered, giving Thorin an exasperated look. “You are clearly being hunted. Did I not warn you of such before this journey even began? Or have you forgotten the bounty on your head?”

 

“Why on earth is there a bounty on your head?” Bilbo asked incredulously, though his question was ignored.

 

“How are we going to get out of here?” Dwalin demanded, turning to his brother for an answer. Balin was tugging on his long white beard, his eyes grim and focused.

 

“We have no hope of outrunning them, even with the ponies,” Balin muttered ominously.

 

“I’ll draw them off!” Radagast offered, his eyes glinting with anticipation.

 

“What?!” Bilbo shouted, rounding on him with a dumbfounded expression. “No, Radagast, that’s a terrible idea! These are wargs and orcs and goodness only knows what else! You could get seriously hurt!”

 

“Bilbo’s right,” Gandalf continued. “These are no ordinary wargs. These are Gundabad wargs from the north. They’ll outrun you before long.”

 

Radagast’s chest puffed up with obstinate pride, causing Bilbo’s stomach to fill with dismay at the determination in his manner. “These,” he said smugly, pointing at the sleigh behind him, where the bunnies were munching happily on the dewy grass, “are Rhosgobel rabbits. There’s not a creature alive faster than these little fellas. I say: bring it on!”

 

“No!” Bilbo shouted, feeling panic creep into his heart. He moved in closer to the wizard, his voice dropping to a fast whisper. “Radagast, please, this is madness! One mistake, one little trip of a rabbit’s foot and—“

 

“Easy, my dear hobbit,” Radagast said soothingly. “You of all know how fast these rabbits can get! And it’s really the only option that they have! There has to be a distraction in order for you all to cross the plains.”

 

“Then I will come with you,” Bilbo replied stubbornly, unwilling to see his dearest friend in danger alone.

 

“No,” Radagast replied most firmly, the sternness in his eyes shocking the hobbit. “You will only weigh down the sleigh, my lad. You’d be better served to go with them and protect them if need be. Don’t worry about me; I will meet you there!”

 

“What are you talking about?” Bilbo cried out worriedly, following the wizard as he readied himself on the sleigh. He had a moment to feel grateful that the dwarves had moved away from them, trying to give the little family some privacy, before he was subsumed in worry once more. “Where’s ‘there’?! Radagast!”

 

“It’ll be alright, Bilbo,” Radagast said with a grin and a small wink. “Have a little faith.” The wizard leaned forward and placed a warm hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. Even through his camouflage armor, the hobbit could feel the warmth of his mentor’s hand. “Just follow Gandalf, and we’ll be together soon. You’ll see!” And with that, Radagast was off into the forest, cackling madly and shouting challenges out into the air to draw the orc pack.

 

Bilbo was filled with horror at the answering howls, a war cry he’d only seldom heard on cold, black nights followed by nightmares and fear. But he had no time to waste; Gandalf was whispering at all of them to run, his long gait putting him at the lead of the party with Thorin and Dwalin close behind. Bilbo darted after them, his ears all the while straining to hear the chase going on a distance away.

 

They’d made it over nearly half of the vast plains before trouble found its way toward them, snuffling and growling as it prowled on the small rock outcrop above them. Out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo saw Thorin jerk his head in Kili’s direction, his body tensing and his grip tightening on his sword.

 

When Kíli’s arrow failed to down the beast immediately, Bilbo drew Sightless in a flash and swiped one of his stones in the belladonna paste before the warg had another chance to snarl. In a moment, the stone had lodged itself in the vile creature’s throat, and it died with nothing more than a whine.

 

The hobbit looked up as Bifur brought his spear down on the throat of the orc rider, his ears noticing the strange silence that had followed the warg’s initial yelp of pain, and swore when a chorused howl rose up over the plains.

 

The company was sprinting before Gandalf even had a breath to shout at them to move. They pelted over the plains, the wizard at the head of the group swerving and dodging around various rocks and solitary trees. The sun beat down upon the company’s backs, but they moved on quicker still, with danger nipping at their heels.

 

Before too long, they had been surrounded. The company made their last stand with a large rock face at their backs, weapons raised and faces grim. Gandalf had disappeared, and there was no sign of Radagast (for which Bilbo was both worried and immensely grateful), so they stood alone against at least thirty wargs and half as many orc riders.

 

“Company, prepare yourselves! Kíli! Master Baggins! Shoot them!” Thorin bellowed, his drawn sword shining and glowing with an iridescent blue light in the afternoon sun.

 

He did not need to tell Bilbo that at all, as the hobbit was already shooting stone after laced stone at the oncoming opponents. His aim was not as spot on, due to the lack of vantage point and elevation, but many of his stones hit their marks, though regrettably few were good enough to be fatal.

 

So concentrated on the battle was he that Bilbo nearly missed Gandalf’s shout.

 

“This way, you fools! Over here!” cried out the wizard, whose pointed grey hat could just barely be seen from over the rock’s base.

 

They all quickly moved to the rock at Thorin’s command, sliding down into the surprise cavern below it and listening carefully for the warning sounds above them. Though they were prepared to be followed, the trumpeting of horns suddenly rent the air and the stomping of wooden feet could be heard overhead. As the arrow lodged into the throat of the orc that fell unfortunately down into the cavern showed, the elves of nearby Rivendell had unknowingly come to their aid.

 

As they journeyed down the pathway leading from the cavern, Bilbo noticed the smug glint in Gandalf’s eyes and wondered whether or not that rescue was as coincidental as it seemed. But mostly he worried about Radagast and whether he had made it to safety from the wargs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment if it pleases ya! Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hello, everyone. It's been a hard couple of weeks, and it will continue to be, it seems. I hope you are all doing well and staying healthy! I've been slowly working on a oneshot for the hobbit fandom, so maybe that will be up next weekend as well.
> 
> Italics in this chapter are Sindarin when they encase a full sentence.
> 
> Disclaimer:Those listed in the first chapter still apply.

 

Bilbo munched happily on the crisp lettuce and ripe tomatoes on his plate, silently marveling at the freshness of the flavor and the syrupy sweetness of the berry sauce on top of the small mountain of vegetables. He’d known the elves were quite skilled with herbal remedies and healing arts, but he had not expected to find such a decadent spread of greenery and seasoning on their dinner tables. Which he probably should have expected, considering all he knew about elves.

 

He poked a lovely white mushroom onto his fork with a small flourish and listened with amusement at the grumblings of the dwarves around him.

 

“Have any of you actually tried some of it yet?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. “It’s really quite good.”

 

“Don’t need to,” grumbled Dwalin, who was stirring his vegetables around with his fingers. “Looks like grass, smells like grass, probably tastes like grass.”

 

Bilbo felt a small smirk curl his lips at the scathing glare on the face of the elf standing a few feet away from Dwalin, before turning back to the dwarf. “Well, I do wish there were a mince pie or two, but this is an elven table. They’re not overly fond of meats. What did you expect?”

 

Dwalin only grunted at that, choosing to pick grouchily at a fluffy roll from the platter in front of him.

 

“Well, I might like to have a word with the cook,” Bilbo continued on, regardless. “This berry sauce is absolutely delightful. I swear I can taste both black berries and blueberries, and I’m quite pleased at the mixture of the two. Might make a jam out of it later. And the cheese is very savory as well. Is that red wine I can taste in the sharpness?” He looked questioningly at the elf who was still glowering at Dwalin and was pleased to see a small, reluctant smile form on the elf’s face.

 

“I’ll give you that, Master Baggins,” Bofur agreed from his left. “ I’ve been making little sandwiches out of the rolls and cheese. Even without any meat, it’s alright.”

 

“I bet sliding a bit of these mushrooms in there would help. Maybe a bit of this berry sauce too; give it some sweetness to mix with the sharpness of the cheese.”

 

On Bofur’s other side, his brother Bombur was hastening to try out the hobbit’s suggestions, though he’d already eaten a significant amount himself. Most of the other dwarves had also picked around the lettuce, spinach, and radishes, choosing instead to eat the rolls and cheese with dissatisfied faces. Dori at least was eating his greens politely while nagging Ori, who was poking his food skeptically like the rest, to eat the food on his plate.

 

“If you say so.” Bofur shrugged noncommittally and made the small sandwich to Bilbo’s specifications. He lifted the food to his mouth, looking for all as if he was ready to be disappointed, and took a bite. A look of surprise overcame the dwarf’s face, and he finished that bite of food thoughtfully. “That’s not half bad, that is! Got any other suggestions?”

 

Bilbo then proceeded to give a small lecture on the different properties of such vegetables and recipes that he could think of that would fit the foods on the table, trying to distract himself from his worry. They’d been in Rivendell for a few hours now, and Radagast had still not joined them. They’d been brought in pretty quickly by the elves, and dinner had followed soon after, not leaving much time to his own thoughts.

 

When they’d reached the Hidden Valley earlier, Bilbo had wanted to turn back and go off in search of his friend, but both Gandalf and Radagast’s earlier words had stopped him. Though he’d been a bit angry with Gandalf for his casual dismissal of the hobbit’s concerns, Bilbo had also noticed that the wizard would occasionally turn his eyes and furrowed brow outward from the stone balconies and walkways, as if watching for something on the horizon.

 

Radagast had told him to wait here, though he’d been deliberately obtuse before all the fuss had happened on the plain. No doubt that was Gandalf’s fault. Judging by the blistering anger that had appeared on Thorin’s face at the sight of the Last Homely House, Bilbo assumed that the dwarf had been extremely opposed to stopping here on their way through. Though it was unlikely that the wizard had had anything to do with the appearance of the orc pack, Gandalf _had_ been the one to lead them through the plains and had knowingly brought them to the secret entrance to the valley.

 

As he eyed the wizard in question where he sat close in hushed conversation with Lord Elrond, Bilbo was reluctantly in awe of his cunning.

 

“…And that’s how I like to cook my potatoes and cheeses together, when I’m making food for special occasions,” he finished and was quiet for a moment. He suddenly realized he had no idea what he had just said to the dwarves, though they were all looking at him with interest and a bit of hunger as well.

 

“That sounds mighty fine, Master Baggins,” said Balin from his seat across the table and next to his brother. Unlike Dwalin, the elder dwarf was eating his food with his silver utensils and sipping his wine politely, though it was clear that he too was not fond of the overwhelming amount of vegetables on the table.

 

“Yeah, you should go visit the cook here. Give him a few pointers,” Kíli said from Dwalin’s other side with a nod, causing Bilbo to wonder if he understood quite how rude that had sounded. By the insulted huff and pluck of a wrong string, Bilbo knew the elf maiden playing the harp behind him certainly had.

 

“Different cooks have different recipes, Master Kíli,” Bilbo replied with a bit of censure in his voice, though it was unheard by the young dwarf. “Just because you do not appreciate the food set before you, that does not mean that there was any error on the part of the cook.”

 

The dwarves around him that had heard his words began to shift rather sheepishly and made no effort to reply, so Bilbo went about his business eating the extra vegetables that the dwarves had snubbed and looking around the room.

 

Rivendell was a very resplendent place, full of white stone and winding walkways. Carved elegantly into the stone were plants and flowers of all kinds, as well as vines that flowed in neat channels within the rock. A massive tree sat at the entrance to the large balcony, giving the tables of dwarves and hovering elves some shade against the setting sun. They picked a very grand room to have this welcoming dinner, as it opened onto an amazing view of the valley, the beauty and magnificence of which Bilbo had never seen before. He particularly loved the dancing light that played upon the little streams and rivers of the elven home, as though rivulets of sparkling stars floated within the coursing water.

 

He’d not expected to be as stunned by the splendor of Rivendell nor as welcomed as they had been by the elves here. Lord Elrond had proven himself to be very friendly and hospitable, despite the surliness of the dwarves and the abruptness of their visit. Part of Bilbo wished he had taken Radagast’s advice to study here in the past, though he would not have felt nearly as comfortable coming here alone as he did with thirteen dwarves and a wizard. Not to say that he felt entirely at ease with the dwarves, of course. That was a completely different barrel of apples.

 

However, Bilbo was quickly coming to realize that the company of dwarves was not as welcome as the hobbit had previously thought. When he listened carefully, he could hear the elves slowly circling their table or playing their instruments make comments to one another, snide insults or mocking quips masked in the silver language of the elves. They had obviously assumed that none among the company could speak elvish.

 

Which, technically, none of them could, as Bilbo was not a part of the company. The hobbit could not speak it as fluidly as Gandalf or Radagast could, but his friend had made sure he knew enough to know when he was being insulted or when he was possibly in danger. Radagast had been growing more wary of the elves for a long time, particularly those residing in Mirkwood.

 

“ _Look at how they’re eating_ ,” whispered a female voice, and Bilbo turned to see one dark-haired elf maid talking to her friend playing the harp. “ _Like animals or children, with their fingers_.”

 

“ _How crude_ ,” replied the other elf quietly, her mouth turning up in a small smirk. “ _Although, I think I’ve seen children of men eat with more dignity_ … _Did you see just now? The young one with the dark hair winked at me_.”

 

At this, Bilbo noticed that Kíli was in fact attempting to smile winsomely at the elf maid in question from across the table.

 

“ _How pitiful…as if I would even be tempted to look at a dwarf in such a way_ ,” the elf continued, sharing a veiled look of mockery with her friend.

 

“ _He’s not even tall enough to reach your waist, even if he stood on the tips of his boots_ ,” the other snickered, leaning her back against the stonewall behind her.

 

 Bilbo felt the burn of anger grow stronger in his chest. It was a silly thing, Kíli trying to flirt with a random elf maid at the dinner table, but the naiveté in the gesture and the ignorance that he was being mocked had Bilbo’s hackles rising. To the hobbit, it was just another example out of hundreds that appearances, however sweet and lovely, were often deceiving.

 

“ _He’s not as ugly or brutish as the rest of them. Still, I’d find more stimulating company with the frogs by the lower glen of the valley_ ,” she sneered, though her face gave away none of her disgust as she gave Kili a small smile, which in turn caused the dwarf to blush a bit and give the elf a bright grin. Bilbo’s temper snapped.

 

“ _I rather wish you would_ ,” Bilbo replied, turning his head to glare at them coldly from over his shoulder. “ _Perhaps they could sing us a better tune_.”

 

The two elves froze in shock, their delicate mouths falling open and their backs stiffening. The dwarves sitting around Bilbo and the elves in the surrounding area turned to look at him as well, curious at the hobbit’s sudden change to Sindarin, a language which all had assumed he could not speak.

 

Bofur followed his gaze to the elves behind him, his bushy eyebrows raised. “Didn’t know you could speak elvish, Master Baggins. Something wrong?” he asked casually.

 

“Nearly always,” he replied vaguely, glaring at the elves for another moment before turning around in his seat, “but nothing to be concerned about.” He reached for a roll to give his hands something to do and determinedly met the gazes of the other dwarves and elves watching him until they looked away and went about their business.

 

The dwarves, having sensed something off about the event, remained tense for a few moments before slowing relaxing back into their seats. Kíli had looked curiously at Bilbo, his gaze darting between the hobbit and the elf maiden who would no longer meet his eye, before he stared unseeingly at his plate, seeming oddly quiet. The two elf maids remained in their places by the harp but did not speak any more that night. Still, Bilbo made plans to perhaps cause a bit of trouble for them before he left the Hidden Valley, whenever that time might be.

 

“What’s with this music, anyway? It’s so depressing!” complained Nori, who sat a little ways away from Bilbo. The hobbit wondered if the dwarves were being deliberately impolite because of the elves or if that’s just how they were. He didn’t remember them being distinctly rude the night before. They’d even cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and dining area as well! But perhaps they had been tired….

 

“Well, why didn’t you say so? I can fix that right now!” Bofur called out merrily, lurching out of his seat and getting onto the table, delicate silver forks, spoons, and plates pushed out of his way by his large boots. Bilbo had a moment of horror as he heard the bright tinkling of expensive cutlery on the ground before turning to watch Bofur stomp his feet and sing on the stone pedestal in the middle of the room.

 

In light of all the songs Bilbo had heard at the Green Dragon during his youth in the Shire, the one that Bofur sang for the dinner was very tame by hobbit standards (and dwarf standards as well). Still, by the looks of scandalized horror on the surrounding elves’ faces, you’d think it was a bawdy song of depraved debauchery.

 

Or perhaps that had more to due with the food throwing. By the time Bofur was through with his song and the dwarves done with their applause and frivolity, the balcony was covered in scattered leafs of lettuce and spinach, squished tomatoes and cheese, and small mushy mountains of rolls on the once pristine stone floor. Though it was completely against all rules of propriety, Bilbo threw caution to the wind and joined in as well, making sure to toss a great deal of food over shoulder and smirking maliciously at the shrieks that followed. Some of the elegant statues of elf warriors or maidens had wine slipping down their stone garments, and the elf who had greeted them, Lindir, had a slice of tomato in his hair.

 

When Bilbo looked up at the head table, where Gandalf, Lord Elrond, and Thorin had sat for the meal, he found the rather sheepish face of one grey haired wizard, the curiously blank expression of a regal elf, and the pleased smirk of one dwarf prince, who was tipping his cup of wine to Bofur.

 

“That was quite a song, Master Dwarf,” Lord Elrond said calmly, giving a small nod to Bofur as the dwarf hopped off the pedestal.

 

“Thank you, Lord Elrond,” replied Bofur cheerfully, and he tipped his hat to the elf lord. Bilbo wondered idly if that was actually the compliment that the dwarf had taken it as. “It’s a favorite of ours.”

 

“I can see why,” Lord Elrond replied with a small smile, causing the dwarves to stiffen at the possible slight. “It looks as though dinner should be called to a close. Shall we? Lindir, please show the dwarves to their rooms.” He swept out of his seat, dark brown robes trailing gracefully behind him, and gave Gandalf an unreadable look. The wizard stood as well and followed, though not before giving Thorin a rather exasperated look.

 

The dwarf in question simply threw a small smile at his company before turning to follow Gandalf and the elf lord, leaving his company to mill about in the dining hall before the elf Lindir stepped forward.

 

“This way, please,” he said politely and began walking toward an exit. Bilbo made to follow, but something caught his eye at the back of the group. He lagged behind until he was nearly at the rear of the group, the last dwarf at the end of the line making to breeze past him.

 

“Not so fast, Master Nori,” said Bilbo, his hand darting out to grab the dwarf’s arm. Nori turned to face him, his expression guarded and eyes watchful. The hobbit couldn’t help but notice he had a leaf of lettuce threaded in his odd star-shaped hair.

 

“Can I help you with something, Master Baggins?” Nori asked innocently, his other hand trailing into his left pocket. Bilbo’s grip tightened warningly.

 

“I would suggest you put all of that back before the elves notice it’s missing,” he said lowly, fixing Nori with a stern look in his eye.

 

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” said the dwarf dismissively.

 

As he made to move forward, Bilbo slipped a foot in front of his ankle, causing the dwarf to trip. Bilbo quickly reached his hand forward and pressed it against Nori’s chest as if to stop his fall, and he raised his eyebrows at the clinking sounds his hand had caused underneath Nori’s vest. The dwarf froze at that, his dark eyes darting quickly to the hobbit’s own hazel ones, before letting out a small breath.

 

“Very clever, Master Baggins,” Nori acquiesced quietly. “I’ll come back later and place them in the kitchens once night’s fallen.”

 

“You’ll do it now, and you’ll keep your sticky fingers to yourself while you’re here,” replied Bilbo, who was now looking at the dwarf with cold demand. Nori’s eyes narrowed angrily, and he angled his body to face the hobbit’s, as if waiting for a fight to break out.

 

“And what makes you think I’m going to listen to you, _halfling_? Going to tell Thorin on me?”

 

Bilbo’s grip on his arm tightened even more, to the point that the hobbit knew it must be painful, but the dwarf made no sign that he felt it at all. “Not at all,” Bilbo said with a small smirk. “I’m going to tell Dori.”

 

Nori immediately blanched and jerked backward, his eyes darting warily to the entrance to the hallway, as if afraid his brother would come back, before returning to meet the hobbit’s stare with calculation. After a moment of this, the dwarf sighed and moved back to the dinner table, checking for any nearby elves before placing his would-be loot back, most of which consisted of silver cutlery and glasses, on the table.

 

“Pockets too,” Bilbo said as Nori began to turn away from the table. The dwarf grunted angrily before emptying his pockets as the hobbit commanded.

 

“Not as if they need it anyway,” Nori grumbled as he made his way back to stand next to Bilbo.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized that you yourself were in _desperate need_ of a silver candlestick holder and some wine glasses,” Bilbo retorted sarcastically, rolling his eyes and motioning him out of the hallway.

 

They meandered along the hallway in silence, neither exactly sure where the rest of the company had been led, before Nori finally broke the quiet.

 

“What were they talking about, earlier?”

 

“What are you talking about now?”

 

“The elf maids, at dinner,” Nori huffed, his hands shoved into his pockets and his face scowling.

 

“Oh, them,” Bilbo replied indifferently, though his hands tightened into fists. “It was nothing.”

 

Nori watched him silently before growling, “They were making fun of us, weren’t they?” 

 

Bilbo chose not to say anything in reply to this, but the dwarf seemed to take that as an affirmative anyway. They walked for a few more minutes in silence, though Bilbo could nearly hear the indignant anger in Nori’s heavy footsteps. He didn’t blame him, really; dwarves could be called many things, stubborn, loud, maybe a bit rash, but rarely were they ever so petty as to insult you behind your back. Or in this case, in another language.

 

“Don’t see why you made me give their trinkets back, then. Would’ve deserved what they got,” Nori grumbled suddenly.

 

Bilbo glared at him from the corner of his eye. “That would have only given them more reason to mock you and less reason to respect you. What’s more, you’re also punishing Lord Elrond by stealing from the wares, and the elf lord has been nothing but welcoming and generous to the lot of you, despite your less than grateful attitudes.”

 

Just then, the two turned a corner and spotted Lindir leaving a room further down the hall, his fair elvish face weary and exasperated. As they grew closer, the elf heard the footsteps and looked up warily, taking in their appearance and fixing his impartial mask back over his features.

 

“Forgive me. I had not noticed you had been left behind, or I would have waited,” Lindir said stiffly.

 

“That’s perfectly alright!” Bilbo replied cheerfully. “We got a bit side-tracked, I’m afraid. Our apologies.” Nori only grunted next to him, refusing to look at the elf.

 

“Well, your accommodations are through this door. Have a restful night, and should you need anything, do not hesitate to ask.” The tired elf said this rather quickly and then swept off down the hallway before either Nori or Bilbo could say another word. The dwarf snorted unkindly at that before becoming cautious again as Bilbo whorled around to face him.

 

“My point, Nori, is that we have been welcomed into their home,” said the hobbit severely. “Stealing from a stranger on the side of a street is one thing. Stealing from a being who has welcomed you into his home and treated you as a valued guest is quite another matter entirely. One makes you a common thief, the other….” Bilbo stopped, momentarily struggling with an old emotion. “The other…makes you so much worse than that.”

 

Nori watched him carefully, taking in the stuttered breathing during that last announcement and the tightened fists, before he looked away, his head bowed and his hands still hiding in their pockets.

 

Bilbo nodded vaguely at the silence, taking it for understanding, and turned toward the door, his hand on the handle.

 

“I stole from you as well, Master Baggins,” Nori said quietly. “Last night…one of your quilts….” His voice, already barely a whisper, dropped off into the night air, now cool and dark in absence of the sun.

 

Silence reined again, as it had quite often in the past couple hours, before Bilbo answered him, without looking over his shoulder, “I know you did, Master Nori. I also know that Ori’s traveling cloak is threadbare and your own not much better. It’s going to be getting quite cold during the nights soon. I know that as well.”

 

With that, Bilbo pushed open the door, giving a small smile at the yells and general mayhem within, before entering their rooms, leaving Nori to his thoughts in the quiet of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So, not much Thilbo, but more sassy Bilbo. :) There will be more Thilbo developement soon, I promise.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: It's the first day of March! :D Hope you are all doing well! Here's the next chapter in APB, and for those who are interested in AMUS, the next chapter for that is in process as well!

A very disagreeable hobbit stomped briskly through the hallway leading from the dwarves’ rooms in Rivendell and made his way toward the dining room that they had eaten in the night before, his hands fisted at his side and the slaps of his large feet on the stone walkway breaking the peaceful morning of the elvish sanctuary. Bilbo Baggins had had a horrible night’s sleep, despite the plush and comfy bed that he had snuggled into the night before. However luxurious the surroundings, Rivendell was still an unfamiliar and foreign place to the disgruntled hobbit. Not even the familiar sounds of dwarvish snores in the rooms next door could set him at relative ease.

 

And still, there was still no sign of Radagast.

 

Bilbo had expected Gandalf to come get him as soon as the other wizard had arrived and had perhaps even expected that a knock would come on his door early near dawn, but the hobbit had awoken on his own, to the bright light of the morning sun shining through his room’s window. Whether Gandalf had simply not deigned to put himself to the trouble or not, Bilbo knew Radagast would have come to see him the moment he arrived, whether he was sleeping or not. The fact that he hadn’t…worried Bilbo deeply.

 

“Gandalf!” Bilbo shouted once he turned the corner of the hallway and saw the wizard sitting lazily at a small breakfast table with a few dark-headed elves.

 

“Bilbo, my lad!” The wizard called out jovially, taking a casual drink from a nearby glass. “I’d have thought you would sleep in! Yesterday was quite exhausting. The company has not stirred yet either, despite dawn being far behind us.”

 

“Don’t ‘ _my lad’_ me, Gandalf,” Bilbo said shortly, his arms crossing over his chest. “Where is Radagast? He should have been here by now. His sled could have carried him across the distance from the forest’s edge to the Hidden Valley in not more than a couple hours or so. Something must have gone wrong.”

 

“Now, now, Bilbo, why don’t you have a seat here and a bit of breakfast, yes?” Gandalf said in a placating manner that set the hobbit’s teeth on edge. “Radagast has probably just gone off on another inquiry. He does tend to get sidetracked by things pretty easily. No need to worry.”

 

“ _No need to worry_?!” Bilbo spluttered, choosing to pace by the table instead of taking the wizard’s rather condescending offer. “Last I saw him, he was being chased by a murderous group of orcs and wargs! I mean, if it was you, I wouldn’t worry at all, but this is Radagast! He’s too kindhearted and courageous for his own good. “

 

Gandalf looked a might bit insulted at Bilbo’s apparent lack of concern for him and started to say something in return, but their quarreling was interrupted by a smooth, deep voice.

 

“What did this wizard, Radagast, look like?” said the elf seated to the right of Gandalf, and Bilbo realized with a small flush of mortification that it was in fact Lord Elrond, in sedate but beautifully embroidered blue robes.

 

“Good morning, Lord Elrond,” he said quickly with a small bow, his pointed ears turning a dull pink under his mop of curly blonde hair. Bilbo then proceeded to give the elf lord a brief description of his mentor, ignoring the somewhat disgusted looks of the other elves at the table.

 

“Well, I certainly believe that I would remember seeing a short man riding a sleigh pulled by rabbits, despite also contending with the orc pack,” said Lord Elrond thoughtfully. “However, I do not recall seeing such a curious thing during the fight or even on our way back here. In fact, the road seemed practically empty.”

 

Bilbo’s shoulders slumped, and he turned to look outward from the balcony, his stomach churning with worry. “Were there any survivors? From the orc pack, I mean.”

 

“I do not believe so. Unless they fled before the battle had begun,” Lord Elrond added, the smooth skin on his brow wrinkling at the implication.

 

Bilbo gave a short nod before turning in his spot and making for the hallway, which he hoped would lead him to the entrance.

 

“Bilbo, where on earth are you going?” Gandalf called after him, rising from his seat quickly.

 

“I’m heading out to find him,” he replied firmly, running his fingers along his belt and all of its pockets and checking their powdery stocks.  He felt Sightless as a comforting presence in his carrying pocket along the back of his armor. He knew he could follow the wizard’s trail easily enough if he traced their journey back to the planes where they’d separated.

 

“Now, hold on just a moment there, Bilbo Baggins!” Gandalf shouted after him, sounding quite exasperated. He drew up next to the hobbit, who glared at him obstinately. “I have never known hobbits to be so rash, but it is clear that you are no ordinary hobbit. Radagast told you that he would meet you here, did he not?”

 

Bilbo lifted his chin and stood his ground, not intimidated by the wizard’s act even for a moment. “Yes, he did. But it has been long past the time when he should have arrived, and I’m going after him.”

 

“And what should he do when he arrives this afternoon and finds that you’ve gone off in search of him? No, it’d be wiser to stay here until he arrives. Have more faith in him, Bilbo. He’s a wizard in his own right, quite capable of handling his own affaires without the help of others.” Gandalf finished with a huff.

 

Bilbo wondered if the other wizard would still say that if _he_ had been the one to discover that Radagast had allowed a group of rabbits on the northern half of the forest to bully him into collecting all of their berries and seeds for them for an entire fortnight before the hobbit had found out and had scolded those bunny rabbits like naughty little fauntlings.

 

He sighed and relaxed his tense shoulders, looking away from Gandalf’s piercing grey eyes. If the elves had really taken out most of the orc pack, which it seemed that they had, then there really should not be any more danger than usual. Even if there were a few survivors, two or three orcs would be no match for his wizard. Still…it was unlike Radagast to keep away when he knew the hobbit must be worried.

 

“Fine,” he sighed tiredly, rubbing a hand along his brow. “But if he’s not here in two days, I’m going after him regardless of what you have to say on the matter.” He turned to face Gandalf, his hands on his hips and his eyes hard. “You might be a wizard, Gandalf, and a being of considerable influence. But it is not your place to give me commands. I am my own hobbit, and I will not be ordered around like a child.”

 

Bilbo held the wizard’s gaze for a moment and took a bit of pleasure in the shock on the other’s face, before he swept out of the room, resolving to find the kitchens and make his own breakfast and smirking when he heard a smooth chuckle from the table.

 

* * *

 

 

“Mister Boggins!”

 

Bilbo rolled his eyes and turned to see the two young princes approaching, Kíli holding an apple in his hand and taking obnoxiously large bites when he’d finished chewing and swallowing. “Hello, boys. What are you up to today?”

 

“That sounds rather suspicious, Mister Boggins,” Fíli said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “What ever do you mean? Perhaps we were just taking a stroll through the halls, minding our own business.”

 

“Exactly,” Kíli agreed, talking with his mouth full. Bilbo grimaced.

 

“Right. I’ll believe the two of you aren’t up to some mischief when you stop acting like you’ve nearly got your sticky fingers in the biscuit jar all the time,” he quipped, rising from his seat on the stairs leading down into the lower courtyard. “Come on now, where are you dwarves off to?”

 

Fíli and Kíli exchanged a meaningful look before eyeing the hobbit speculatively.

 

“I’m just going to follow you anyway,” said Bilbo with a shrug of his shoulders. “I’m a bit bored sitting here, and at the very least it would be entertaining to try to keep you out of trouble.”

 

“Fair enough,” Fíli said with a quirk of his lips. “We’re off to the archery ranges.”

 

“You think the elves are going to let you practice?” The hobbit asked incredulously.

 

“No, we figured we’d watch them practice,” Kíli answered, tossing his now devoured apple core over the railing and into the courtyard. “Mister Dwalin always told us to know your enemy as best you can. This way we can watch them, figure out all their tricks, you know.”

 

“Elves supposedly have the keenest sight of all beings on Middle Earth,” Fíli added. “So, it will be interesting to watch either way.”

 

“Hobbits could probably give the elves a sporting competition,” Bilbo commented casually as they began to walk down the hallway together. “We don’t have much cause to fight or shoot enemies down, but hunting for the night’s dinner is of a very high priority in the Shire.”

 

“Oh, that’s right!” Kíli exclaimed, looking over at the hobbit with curious and wide blue eyes. “You use that pipe thing, yeah? I thought I saw you using it against the orcs in the plains yesterday.”

 

“It’s called a blow-pipe, Mister Kíli. Ah, here we are, I believe. The archery range. Much close to the main house than I’d imagined it would be, but…” Bilbo gestured with a pointed finger.

 

The three of them had come upon another large courtyard, though this one was not quiet and peaceful as Bilbo’s earlier spot had been. A few elves lingered about around the rim of the yard, wearing their leisure wear of long muted shades of silk and linen and talking in hushed tones. A tall dark-haired elf in full body armor stood by the entrance to another building on the eastern end. Two more dark-haired elves stood in ready position in the courtyard, wearing lightweight breastplates and holding curved longbows fashioned with enviable skill.

 

The one on the left pulled back his arrow, fixing it quickly to target the practice dummy several yards away, and then let it fly, the arrow cutting through the air in a perfect arch. It speared the dummy in the dead center of the forehead, which shook and shivered with the force of the blow. The elf let out a bright laugh and said, “ _Try topping that, dear brother_!”

 

“ _With ease and pleasure_ ,” the other elf replied, giving his brother a small, confident smirk and notching two arrows onto his bow. True to his word, the elf took barely more than a moment to position the arrows before unleashing them onto the dummy across from him, who was quickly pierced in the forehead as well as the heart.

 

“ _If I had used two arrows, I would have made the same target_ ,” the first elf retorted haughtily, provoking his brother to step forward and argue good-naturedly with him on the topic.

 

 Bilbo watched this for a moment, rather impressed with the accuracy of the elves, when he noticed that Kíli and Fíli were oddly silent. He turned his head to look at them and saw their shocked expressions staring at the practice dummies. “What’s the matter? I’ll admit the shots were pretty good, but you two look absolutely boggled.”

 

“Two arrows at the same time…and with such accuracy and speed, too…” whispered Kíli quietly, his hands twisting in his tunic and his teeth biting into his lower lip. Next to him, Fíli had controlled his own expression, though he grimaced in reluctant respect.

 

“I’ve never seen anything like it. Not even Kíli has managed to shoot like that,” he said, sounding surly.

 

“Surely there are archers of that skill amongst the dwarves, or at least close to it,” Bilbo questioned with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Not really,” Fíli said a bit darkly. “Dwarves are generally more fond of using close-range weapons, axes or swords forged by our own hand. Archery is too much of an elf fancy for many dwarves to take up the bow. Kíli is actually one of the best archers of our race; at least of the Durin line, he is the best.”

 

Bilbo looked at them curiously, noting their downturned faces and the insecure way that Kíli was suddenly holding his body, before he sniffed, pointedly nonchalant. “Well, if you had more than several hundred years of experience, then you would have no problem with that shot either. Really, when you think about it, two arrows from a few yards distance is not that impressive at all. Try two from a few hundred, and then maybe you’ll have my attention.”

 

Fíli and Kíli both looked at him steadily for a moment before smiles began to appear on their faces. Kíli’s was particularly heart-warming, his whole countenance becoming confident and proud again.

 

“ _Did you hear that, my brother_?”

 

“ _I did indeed. I believe the hobbit has issued to us a challenge_.”

 

Bilbo, noting the immediate tensing of the dwarven brothers in front of him, turned at the twin voices at his back. The two dark-haired elves had approached them from across the yard, creating quite a stir amongst the gossiping periphery of elves. They were nearly identical in appearance, though the elf on the left was slightly taller and more solemn in bearing. The elf youth on the right seemed of more open cheer, and a small half-smile curved the corner of his mouth. They both had hair the color of dark oak wood, deep and brown, which seemed to be the regularity amongst the Rivendell elves. Their eyes, however, were the color of a summer storm, dark grey like those of rain-bearing clouds.

 

“How may I help you, elves of Rivendell?” Bilbo said in a formal tone, though he made sure there was a recognizable undercurrent of amusement.

 

“I am Elladan,” said the solemn elf, and he gave a small, graceful bow.

 

“And I am Elrohir,” added the more friendly elf, and he bowed as well.

 

“I am Bilbo Baggins, and these two dwarves are Fíli and Kíli, of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo answered politely, gesturing to the dwarves in question with a small flourish. They had moved behind him while the elven twins had introduced themselves and were measuring them skeptically. The apparent protectiveness of the gesture made Bilbo’s heart warm a bit towards them.

 

The elves themselves gave the two dwarf brothers a brief moment of curiosity before turning back to the hobbit. “It is a very curious thing, to hear that a hobbit knows our language so well,” said Elladan, his eyes flashing. “Word of last night’s …interaction during dinner has spread through the valley quickly.”

 

“Of course, that had something to do with Hiril and Eirien, our most well-connected ladies of Rivendell,” finished Elrohir, looking amused. Bilbo idly wondered if that was his way of saying they were the biggest gossips. “Though the nature of the encounter has been kept secret. Would you care to tell us what prompted a response from you, Mister Baggins?”

 

Bilbo was careful not to look at Kíli at all, as he was still not entirely sure if the dwarf knew or suspected the reason why Bilbo had responded to the female elves the night before. Though by the way Fíli’s body tensed and his face tightened imperceptibly with anger, the hobbit knew that his elder brother at least had hazarded a guess as to why.

 

“Nothing that needs retelling,“ said Bilbo indifferently. “I’m quite sure that they understood me just fine.”

 

“Hmmm…” Elladan hummed thoughtfully, watching the hobbit quietly. “It is our duty as elves of Imladris to maintain a respectable and welcoming mien around our guests, regardless of appearance, race, or circumstances. If Hiril and Eirien discomfited you in any way, we would like to correct this.”

 

“I don’t believe that will be necessary,” replied Bilbo. He certainly wanted the two elves to get their just deserts before he left, but he also did not want to create a stir in Rivendell by having the two elves formally punished for their callous words by Lord Elrond. He had no idea how that would affect the Company’s stay here, but he did not imagine it would be any more pleasant than it was currently.

 

“Very well. If that is your wish,” Elladan finished, though he looked anything but satisfied.

 

“Now, Mister Baggins, I believe I heard you make a challenge of sorts,” said Elrohir with a smile.

 

“I made an observation, certainly,” Bilbo retorted. “You are both clearly very skilled archers; I can’t help but think this courtyard practice is beneath your skill set. I could be wrong, though.”

 

Elrohir’s eyes flashed at the gauntlet the hobbit had just thrown down. “Perhaps it is. However, the more interesting question is: is it beneath your own?”

 

Bilbo gave a short laugh. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. My aim must pale in comparison to your keen elf eyes.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kíli and Fíli turn to look at him, confused at the lie.

 

“However, the Company has its own skilled archer. Kíli, of the Durin line,” he announced, stepping back between the dwarves to place a proud hand on Kíli’s shoulder. The dwarf looked taken aback, his eyes widening in shock and maybe a little fear. “He’s sure to give you a good match, if it’s a challenge you’re eager for.”

 

The two elves looked at the flustered dwarf, though while Elrohir appeared interested, Elladan simply looked a bit bored. “Are you, then?” Elrohir asked. “I was given to understand that dwarves are not found of the bow and quiver.”

 

Kíli hastened to recover his composure under the elf’s direct attention. “Thorin and I both thought if would be smart to have a long distance fighter in the Company. I’ve been training for over three decades now. I’m also trained in the sword and axe.”

 

Elladan seemed to give a small nod in approval, while Elrohir gave the dwarf a tentative smile. “How about we have a small match then? First five on the fatal target zones wins.”

 

“What are the stakes?” asked Fíli, his chin raised and proud as he too placed a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. Bilbo’s dropped back to his side, and he moved to lean against the pillar of the archway, watching with interest.

 

Elrohir and Elladan exchanged a quick glance, but then the former turned to look at the dwarves, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “If I win, you both will sit next to us at our table at dinner tonight.”

 

Bilbo snorted at the image in his mind: Kíli and Fíli sitting in between the two elves, looking incredibly uncomfortable and sour-faced, while Elladan and Elrohir passed plates of greens and rolls to them. The dwarf brothers both grimaced, exchanging a look as well, before Fíli turned to answer them.

 

“We’ll have the same wager, then,” he said lowly, giving the elves a small smirk. “If Kíli manages to get five on target before you, then you will have dinner with us at our table. Next to Mister Dwalin and Bofur.”

 

Bilbo had a moment to wonder if Elladan and Elrohir even knew the other dwarves by name, but judging by the twitch of the elder elf’s eyebrows and the curious turn of lip of the younger, they at least knew who Dwalin and Bofur were.

 

“So we have an accord,” Elladan said formally, giving the dwarves a small bow. “I assume that you will prefer to use your own equipment in this match. Shall we meet here again in an hour? That should allow for enough time to settle this before we dine at sun’s set.”

 

“That sounds agreeable,” replied Fíli, giving a returning bow as well.

 

With that, the elves sauntered off, their heads turned slightly together and speaking in murmured Sindarin. Bilbo watched them enter the other building on the eastern part of the courtyard, which the hobbit felt safe presuming it was the elves’ armory, before he spun around to look at the dwarves once more.

 

Kíli and Fíli were looking at each other with rather dumbfounded looks on their faces before giving those incredulous looks at the hobbit. “Did I just agree to get into an archery match with an elf?” questioned Kíli quickly, sounding a bit panicked. “After watching him make a perfect shot combined with two arrows on the bow that I have never been able to do without nearly slicing a finger off?”

 

“I believe you did,” Bilbo chuckled, giving the dwarves a grin. “And not just any elf either.”

 

“What do you mean?” asked Fíli quickly.

 

“Well, did you see the angles of their faces and the color of their eyes?” Bilbo enquired, giving a small huff at the incredulous looks on their faces. Really, he’d have to teach these two to be more observant. “No, Kíli, you did not enter into a contest with just any elf. I’d bet my garden, including my prize-winning tomatoes, that you just challenged to an archery match one of the sons of the Lord of Rivendell, Lord Elrond himself.”

 

They gaped at him, Kíli turning a bit pale in the face and lifting a stabilizing hand to his brother’s shoulder. “Uncle Thorin’s going to kill me,” he gulped.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the competition will be up next and a bit of Thilbo development as well. Slow, slow development. Hey, I warned you in the tags! XD Hope you enjoyed this, and let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’m so sorry that this update is so long overdue. -.- A lot of troubling things happened in my personal life, and I just lost the spirit to write for a while. These next few weeks until summer will be tough, but I’m going to try to update as often as I can spare the time. AMUS, for any of you who read that as well, is also being worked on, albeit slowly. Again, sorry for the wait!
> 
> Disclaimer: Made in First chapter, still applies.

Bilbo stayed behind as both Fíli and Kíli dashed off to their rooms, intent on grabbing his bow and arrows and probably a swig of ale for his nerves. As the hobbit looked around the courtyard, he could see the stir that had rippled through the surrounding elves, who he was realizing were evidently as gossipy as any other race on Middle Earth. Whatever idyllic image that had survived from the fanciful stories his mother had told Bilbo when he was a young fauntling about the elves had been crushed by the behavior he had witnessed from them after only one day in Rivendell.

 

Certainly, he could see that there were some elves of good character, such as Elladan, Elrohir, and Lord Elrond himself, but they seemed to be the exceptions. The two elves the night before, Hiril and Eirien, as Elrohir had called them, had been too arrogant and disdainful of beings they had only just met to be called anything but shallow and mean-spirited. The other elves, such as the ones that milled about the courtyard at that moment, had also proven themselves to be cold and proud. They seemed to look down their long noses at Bilbo and the dwarves, as if they were ants beneath their feet. They were not the wise and just elves spoken of in his bedtime stories ages ago.

 

He wondered what they were saying about the upcoming match, though he knew it probably wasn’t very flattering of his dwarf companions. Bilbo knew that they all expected Elrohir to win, which wouldn’t surprise the hobbit either. As Bilbo’d said before, the elf archer probably had one hundred years more practice than Kíli, if not more.

 

But the hobbit had not helped engineer this match thinking that Kíli would win; instead, he knew that the elves were expecting Elrohir to soundly defeat the dwarf and had wanted to perhaps deliver them a small dose of humility (of which he seemed to be doing with growing frequency, he noted with amusement).

 

Kíli, though young and not as experienced as the elf, was an archer of fine ability. Despite the chaos of the battle the day before, Bilbo had seen the dwarf shoot. Kíli was a dab hand at it and had excellent aim, so he was sure to give his elf opponent a run for his gold, even if he couldn’t shoot two arrows at the same time. The elves liked to think they held supremacy over the archery skill, and Bilbo himself liked to disavow them of this notion, whenever they happened to pass through his section of forest, even though his weapon of choice was not a bow and arrow.

 

Bilbo was pulled from his thoughts by the soft sounds of feet upon the grass nearby and looked up to see Elladan standing next to the column that the hobbit was leaning against, his storm-colored eyes looking out onto the courtyard.

 

“As I said before,” began the elf, speaking in low tones, “it is unusual to find a being of another race who understands our language as well as you seem to.” The serious elf paused for a moment before continuing quietly. “Hiril and Eirien have spread this information around quite quickly; however, they did not reveal the actual content of the conversation as they did so. It has made some elves…suspicious.”

 

Bilbo said nothing in reply to this, though his hands tightened into his fists where they were hidden beneath his folded arms. His eyes roved seemingly absently over the ring of elves surrounding the clearing, but they were anything but idle or complacent. It was not an unexpected event, the elves becoming suspicious of him in particular. He could very well tell that for himself. It _was_ a bit surprising that Elladan seemed to be warning him.

 

“There are some, myself included, who suspect that Hiril and Eirien overstepped propriety and had thus drawn a response from you. However, there are others who were not present at the time of the dinner. They seem to believe that you might have… insulted the two ladies.”

 

Bilbo rolled his eyes at that and gave a small huff of exasperation. A bunch of indignant, chest-beating elves getting their tunics in a tither, that’s exactly what he needed. Ah, well, he wouldn’t be here for much longer either way. And it’s not like they would attack him in the hallway or something of that ilk. Elves were _much_ too dignified and superior for that kind of behavior.

 

“Your point?” prompted Bilbo, the corner of his mouth tipping up in a small smirk.

 

Elladan was silent for a moment, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts, before he finished. “It would be to your benefit to tread carefully for the remainder of your stay here.”

 

“Are you worried for my safety?” Bilbo asked, letting amusement carry over into his voice. “Because you don’t need to be. I’m quite capable of protecting myself.”

 

Elladan gave him an unimpressed look before saying, “Be that as it may, it would be wise to proceed with caution while you remain in Rivendell.” And with that, the elf walked away, disappearing into the armory and out of sight once more.

 

Bilbo hid a sly smile away from the circle of curious onlookers and lifted his face to the gentle afternoon breeze, his mind humming thoughtfully. He wondered if the confrontation the night before had put him out of favor even more so than the company of dwarves. As far as he knew, they’d not received a warning to be careful from any elf, but perhaps their age old antagonism made this warning implicit and unnecessary to explain.

 

At any rate, it was certainly nice of Elladan to be concerned for him, but Bilbo seriously doubted he was in any physical danger from the elves of Rivendell. It’s not as if the elves were going to gang up on him in an alley way and attack, as criminals in the villages of men might. Elves were ‘above’ that. No, they would probably just look at him with more disdain than before, maybe throw in a few cultured but snide remarks, and that would be that.

 

“Mr. Boggins!” called two familiar voices. Bilbo turned to look at them with a grin.

 

“Are you ready then? Elrohir’s already warming up. You’d better get out there as well, Master Kíli.” The dwarf in question gulped at this before fixing his bow determinedly in his hands and marching out onto the courtyard, head held high.

 

His brother stopped next to the hobbit, his mouth twisted in a grim line.

 

“Why the sour face? You’ll begin to look like your uncle if you keep that up, Master Fíli,” remarked Bilbo, feeling gratified when the dwarf reluctantly smiled. _Though he pulls it off rather well, I’ll admit_ ….

 

“Nothin’ really. I just don’t fancy a dinner trapped at a table full of elves, is all.” He folded his arms over his chest and watched as Kíli stretched his arms and positioned himself on the field.

 

“You don’t think your brother will win then?” Bilbo looked at him from the corner of his eye.

 

“Kíli’s a great archer, but he’s not likely a match to an elf archer right now. He definitely could be in the future, but the elf’s got at least a few hundred years on him. And Kíli knows this too. He’s not expecting to beat him, but he’ll at least make an impression on them, I think.”

 

Bilbo looked at him curiously. He hadn’t expected such a mature answer from Fíli or Kíli, who for all intents and purposes were really only just above the age for dwarfhood and still had the antics of dwarflings. Bilbo realized with a pleasant shock that perhaps he had underestimated the dwarf brothers as well. After all, Fíli, as the oldest, was Thorin’s heir, whether that be to a reclaimed ancient kingdom or to a dispersed people making a living in the Blue Mountains. It shouldn’t be unexpected that Fíli would show signs of maturity as they journeyed to the Lonely Mountain. For a moment, Bilbo was disappointed he would not get to see the young dwarf at the quest’s end. He’d probably be a sight to behold, like his uncle.

 

“Shall we begin?” Elladan asked, his deep voice loud enough to reach the hobbit and the elder dwarf prince where they stood near the edge of the courtyard.  

 

They turned to see both competitors standing at attention in front of their respective targets. Elrohir looked confident and strong, his arrow already poised on his quiver. One of his fingers tapped lazily against the fine inlay of the bow. Next to him, Kíli looked equally resolute, but his face was a bit pale, as if he were about to be sick.

 

“Who ever places five arrows on target first is the winner of this match, with all the conditions discussed previously,” Elladan continued, seeming rather bored. “As a welcome guest in Rivendell, Master Kíli of the line of Durin and of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield may be the first to begin the match. You may fire at will when you are ready.”

 

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at that, though he could not tell if that was condescension in the elf’s voice or not. Fíli seemed to think so, given the way he turned a cold glare onto the elf in question. The onlookers in the courtyard had grown silent at the elf’s commanding voice and were now watching with varying degrees of disinterest. Occasionally, a whispered conversation would interrupt the peaceful silence.

 

Kíli ignored it and took a deep breath. A gentle breeze teased his dark hair, and the dwarf closed his eyes in concentration. After a heartbeat, he raised the bow into position, his eyes focused unwaveringly onto the small target over twenty yards away. Then he released the arrow, which soared through the air quick as a flash and speared the center of the target with a satisfying thud. The dwarf seemed to slump a bit in relief, lowering his bow and looking over his shoulder to meet his brother’s approving gaze.

 

“Not bad, Master Dwarf,” Elrohir said appreciatively. “Now it’s my turn, I believe.” The elf then raised his own bow as well, pointed it squarely at his target, and released his arrow in barely a moment’s worth of time. It too landed dead in the center of its target, causing a murmur of appreciation to pass through the elves on the sidelines.

 

The next two rounds continued much the same way: both archers fired their arrows into the dead center of their targets, which were replaced after every round to have a clean shot. Once it was clear that Kíli was no amateur archer, Bilbo thought he could detect a kind of grudging respect out of the disgruntled murmurs of the audience around, which made him want to grin smugly. He reigned himself in though; this was Kíli’s triumph to own and boast about. Besides, Fíli was already doing so, which seemed to irk the elves even more.

 

The second to last bout then came, and before he got into position, Kíli turned around to share a loaded look with his brother. Fíli in return gave him a confident nod, his blue eyes shining with pride and support. At this, he turned around and breathed deeply for a moment, gathering his concentration. Then he notched two arrows onto his bow.

 

“Ah,” Bilbo said quietly, his mouth twisting in a small smile. “Your brother’s keener than I expected.” The hobbit had realized that it would come down to this bout rather than the last, because he knew Elrohir would want to finish the match with some flare. Bilbo had not expected Kíli to read this as well, and his estimation of the dwarf went up a bit in acknowledgement.

 

Fíli grunted, looking worried now that his brother was not facing him. “It’s more of an all or nothing gambit. He’s never made a perfect shot with two arrows before, so it’s probably going to be a disappointment. We’ve already prepared ourselves for dinner with the elves,” he said with a glower on his face. “But it’s been awhile since Kíli tried to do this, so it’ll be good for him too. At the very least, none of these leaf-eaters can say that no dwarf knows his way around a bow.”

 

“I think you’d be surprised at the impression you’re making,” remarked Bilbo slyly, noting Elrohir’s widened eyes and raised eyebrows.

 

Kíli raised his bow for the last time in the match, his right hand contorting oddly to grasp both arrows. He watched the target across the yard darkly, as if it were an enemy, before he took one more breath and released the arrows. Too quick to watch and against all odds, the arrows astonished them all, Kíli, Fíli, and Bilbo included, when the arrows came together at the end of their flight and found a solid mark in the center of the target.

 

There was a long moment of silence where everyone in the clearing slowly digested what had just happened before them. Kíli was staring at the target with a dumbfounded look on his face before he turned to his brother in disbelief and met Fíli’s gaping expression.

 

“I did it… Mahal bless, I did it! _Ha-ha_!!!” Kíli crowed proudly, launching himself at his brother, who met him with shocked but shining pride.

 

“That you did, Kíli! Wait until the Company hears about this! Dwalin’s going to be thrilled!”

 

Bilbo watched the two brothers’ merriment with a smile before turning to look at the elf brothers, who were curiously silent. Elrohir still seemed rather shocked, looking at his brother with a wide-eyed helplessness. Elladan seemed to struggle to maintain his apathetic expression, but the hobbit thought he could see the beginnings of a grimace forming around the elf’s tightened mouth.

 

“Well, would you look at that sunset!” Bilbo grinned at the elves. “I do believe it’s time for dinner, boys! Shall we?”

 

* * *

 

 

Bilbo could not remember a dinner before now when he had been so amused. Watching the two elf brothers, stiff-backed and grim-faced, trying to eat in a somewhat civilized manner whilst being sandwiched in between Dwalin and Bofur was a treat he had not known he’d wanted until that day. Elrohir, at least, was making an attempt at decent conversation with the toy-making dwarf to his right and having a modicum of success, though Bofur seemed to enjoy making small jokes at his expense. Elladan, on the other hand, was as stony-faced as he had been after Kíli’s arrows had found their mark and seemed to be trying to will himself into another world, away from the rough, tattooed dwarf on his right who grinned savagely whenever he passed a dinner plate too hard and caused food to spill onto his sour-faced neighbor.

 

The hobbit forced himself to refrain from smirking. He’d been given one of the temporarily available seats at the head table by Lord Elrond, which was a great honor, to be sure. It would be bad manners of him to visibly enjoy his sons’ misery after such a show of hospitality. So, outwardly, Bilbo was very polite; inwardly, he was gleeful.

 

“I have been told you were present at the match between my sons and Masters Fíli and Kíli, Master Baggins.”

 

Bilbo looked up at the sound of the elf lord’s smooth voice. “Indeed, I was.”

 

Lord Elrond gave him a small, sly smile. “They seemed reluctant to give me any details, only that, as a result, they were dining with our guests tonight. Would you care to share what transpired? I confess I am curious.”

 

Bilbo wondered for a moment if the elf was reluctant to ask if his sons lost, as that would imply that eating with the dwarves was a punishment, but he refrained from attempting to make a joke of it…for now.

 

“It was a fairly simple match. First five arrows on target made the victor. Elrohir was gracious to give Kíli the beginning shot as a guest of Rivendell.” Bilbo paused for a moment, popping one of the small red tomatoes into his mouth. A seat away from him, Thorin was listening carefully, his dark blue eyes guarded. “The match preceded as expected: both combatants were very skilled and easily managed to place the beginning three shots in the center. After the third round, Kíli notched two arrows onto his bow and placed them perfectly, securing the win over Master Elrohir.”

 

“Did he now?” Lord Elrond questioned in muted surprise. “Elrohir is one of Rivendell’s best archers. Young Master Kíli must be a keen shot indeed, to have bested my son. I wish I had been there to witness it myself.”

 

“Yes, he is,” Bilbo agreed quietly, noticing the small smile curl around Thorin’s mouth at the praise of his nephew. “Master Elrohir was quite skilled as well, of course. We had the privilege of seeing him practice with his brother beforehand. They’re really quite something.”

 

“Thank you, Master Baggins,” the lord replied, his mouth curving a bit mischievously as he watched his sons struggle at the nearby table. “I believe this experience will be good for them.”

 

He retreated into conversation with Gandalf again, who sat at the elf’s right, leaving Bilbo to turn to his nearby dwarf companions, Balin and Thorin. Balin sat at his right and was thoughtfully picking at his plate of vegetables and greens, his left hand curled around his wine glass. Thorin next to him was watching his company carefully and then sending the occasional suspicious look at the wizard and elf’s hushed conversation.

 

“Kíli must have improved since last I watched him practice,” Balin spoke lowly, sharing a smile with the hobbit. “It’s admittedly a bit surprising, that he won an archery match against an elf. Not to say I’m not proud of the lad, of course. He’s a hard worker, if not too bright at times.”

 

“He’s got a good heart,” Bilbo remarked, before feeling his face flush a bit. He wondered if that comment was perhaps too deep for the polite conversation, but Balin only nodded in agreement.

 

“That he does,” the older dwarf murmured, turning a speculative eye on the muted chaos of the table below theirs. “I was pretty pleased to be invited to dine with the master of Rivendell at the head table along with my prince, but perhaps it would have been better if I had stayed with the others. My brother is enjoying this too much for any good to come out of it.” He shook his head and sighed when Dwalin passed the bowl of freshly baked rolls too roughly for Elladan to grasp it, causing the bounty to spill on his lap. A few of the dwarves roared in laughter at that, Bofur even reaching around Elrohir to thump the frowning elf’s shoulder good-naturedly.

 

“Oh, it’s just a bit of good fun,” Bilbo grinned, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m sure the elves would have given back as good as they got, had they won. Master Kíli earned the victory, well and fair. Besides,” the hobbit continued quietly, looking a bit fondly at the table, where the dwarf brothers were talking animatedly with the rest of the company and even the two elves occasionally, “I think something good’s come out of it, either way. For all of them.”

 

“I think I’ll agree with you on that, laddie,” Balin nodded sagely. “I’m glad the match went smoothly, though I wish I’d been there for it as well, if only to keep an eye on the lads. You’re sure everything went smoothly, Master Baggins?” The white-bearded dwarf turned a sharp eye on him. “The occasional friendly test of skill between warriors is only natural, but…between an elf and a dwarf…I wondered at how such a thing began in the first place.”

 

Under his keen gaze, Bilbo only smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, one thing led to another, as these things tend to do. Masters Elladan and Elrohir are not like many of their kin; they seem more welcoming of other beings, or at the very least more fair than most.” _Probably due to their father’s influence_ , Bilbo thought.

 

Balin hummed contemplatively, still giving the hobbit a searching look before turning to take a drink of his wine.

 

“You did not answer his question, Master Baggins,” Thorin’s voice rumbled from Balin’s other side, and the hobbit turned to him with his eyebrows raised in question. “Was the match all that transpired?”

 

Bilbo could tell the solemn dwarf was asking if anything else, perhaps something untoward, had occurred in relation to the match or otherwise. He shook his head silently, choosing to keep Elladan’s warning to himself as it really only related to _him_ anyway. “Yes, everything was fine. All participants maintained themselves with dignity, I assure you.” He only just stopped himself from rolling his eyes at their protectiveness. Although he supposed he couldn’t blame them; dwarves and elves _had_ been at odds for centuries.

 

They sat in silence for a moment, Bilbo finishing his plate of vegetables and rounding out his dinner by putting away a couple of rolls, before Thorin engaged him again.

 

“You never did say what occurred the previous dinner, between you and that female elf.”

 

_Goodness_ , that’s being talked about more than Bilbo had expected. He hadn’t been surprised when Nori, Elladan, and Elrohir had asked about it but now Thorin too? _You ask one elf to put a pie in it, and suddenly you’re the talk of the western lands_.

 

He opened his mouth to make another dismissal of it but was interrupted by Thorin as he continued.

 

“I am not asking you to recount to me what was said,” the dwarf spoke, his voice deep and low. “I have already gathered enough to understand the situation without knowing what was directly spoken.” Thorin stopped for a moment, his eyes flickering toward his dark-haired nephew, before meeting Bilbo’s again and hardening at the answer he read in Bilbo’s downturned mouth and furrowed brow.

 

“I thank you on behalf of my kin, Master Baggins.”

 

“No problem…” the hobbit murmured in reply.

 

Bilbo and Balin watched, silently surprised, as the dwarf prince rose from the table and moved to stand nearer to the company, Dwalin turning in his seat to start up a hushed conversation. The hobbit felt a bubble of amusement well up inside at the dwarf’s actions; he thought the dwarf was probably trying to escape the awkwardness of having to actually thank someone for a favor. Or perhaps it was just Bilbo he felt awkward thanking, due to their weird heart-to-heart meeting a couple nights past.

 

_Ah, well_ , Bilbo sighed internally, watching the prince with an amused look. _It’s kind of endearing, how awkward he is_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Radagast's return.
> 
> Not sure when this will be uploaded. Will be working on it whenever I have time to spare. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: There's really no suitable excuse for how long it's been. I have had school, and traveling, and standardized tests, and holidays, but for the most part, it's really been a lack of motivation and writer's block. :/ But I have planned out through chapter 30, which should help me focus on writing it bit by bit. I'm not going to promise regular updates because I clearly can't keep them, but I will work on my stories when I can and I hope you all still enjoy them along the way.I'm really sorry for those who have been waiting anxiously, but thank you for your support. :)
> 
> This chapter is to help move the plot along a bit, so it's a little shorter than most chapters will be.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not claim any of the characters or places, nor do I make any profit from writing this. All rights go to JRR Tolkien or the Tolkien Estates. I'm simply writing this to improve my skill and out of love for the characters.

“—is sick, Gandalf! I can smell it in the air, feel it in the soil. Taste it in the quickly spoiling fruits of the trees. A _darkness_ is falling over the Greenwood, such as I have not seen for a long time!”

 

On his way to breakfast that morning, Bilbo’s heart gave a relieved and happy lurch at Radagast’s voice in the dining hall. He nearly threw himself around the corner to embrace his mentor, but the fear and worry in the other’s voice caused the hobbit to pause. Radagast had been quite anxious about the state of the Greenwood for some time, but…what did he mean by ‘darkness’?

 

“The appearance of an orc pack so far south has only made me more determined that…something is happening in the forest, something we cannot ignore anymore. After I shook the dogs off my trail, I headed for the Old Fortress.”

 

“How did you pass through the Misty Mountains so quickly?” Gandalf interrupted.

 

“I took the old miners tunnel that was created quite a while ago by dwarves. It’s just wide enough for my rabbits and sleigh to pass through at nearly top speed. The ceiling’s beginning to give way, though. Got a nasty knock on the head for my troubles.” The wizard huffed, and in his mind’s eye Bilbo could see him rubbing a bump under his hat and looking very dissatisfied.

 

“You were saying?” Gandalf prompted, sounding slightly amused.

 

“Oh, right! Well, I reached Dol Guldur a couple wicks before sundown, and…even though the sun was still out, the place felt dark and cold… _frightening_. I could sense a heaviness in the air, a malice upon the wind. When I entered the old courtyard, there were dead vines wrapped around the crumbling stone and the statues seemed a breath away from just falling apart. I heard a sound behind me and turned around in time to fend off the attack.” Radagast paused. “It was a wraith, Gandalf. And it was carrying this.”

 

There was a sound like a clump of cloth hitting against the table, with a slight metal ring. There was silence in the room, before Gandalf gave a shaky gasp.

 

“This is….”

 

Bilbo waited impatiently to hear Gandalf continue, but whatever the object was, the wizard could not yet bring himself to speak its name. The hobbit felt a chill descend from his spine. He wanted to burst in there and fuss at the brown wizard for his foolish actions, but he found himself frozen in his spot. What intelligent being feels ‘darkness’ and ‘malice’ so heavily around a place and then proceeds to enter it! Attacked by a _wraith_ too! Bilbo felt ill.

 

“Good mornin’ to you there, Master Baggins!” A boisterous voice sounded from down the hall.

 

_Curse you, Bofur_.

 

Bilbo debated retreating down the hall a bit but knew that the wizards would see through that. Instead he simply turned to meet the dwarf striding down the hall with a bounce in his step, as if he hadn’t been eavesdropping on the wizards a moment before.

 

“Morning, Master Bofur. Up early, I see.”

 

“Gotta keep with the pace of the journey,” Bofur replied, straightening his hat and grinning at the hobbit. “Wouldn’t do to get used to lying in. It’ll be a nasty shock for a few of the others to have to get up at sunrise in a couple days.”

 

“Right,” Bilbo agreed with a small smirk. He could imagine Kíli and Fíli, sleepy and bleary-eyed, stumbling around in the early morning hastily trying to pack up their things while Thorin barked orders at the lot of them. “Shall we head in?”

 

They entered dining hall, Bilbo’s eyes immediately finding his dearest friend. He marched up to Radagast, his relief at the wizard’s return warring with his frustration. Radagast beamed at him, the curious nose of a hedgehog peeping from the rim of his tatty tunic.

 

“Bilbo! I was so glad to hear you’d all made it without much trouble! How have you liked—“

 

“That’s not going to work, and you know it,” Bilbo stymied him quickly, wagging his finger sternly at the other. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? You go gallivanting off with a pack of wargs on your tail and then not show up for a day? What was I supposed to think?”

 

“Well,” the wizard hedged sheepishly, “I had to make another stop before I could return. I never meant to worry you, my lad.”

 

Bilbo huffed in agitation but upon noticing that both Bofur and Gandalf were watching bemusedly from the table, he grabbed Radagast’s arm and tugged him outside into the corridor. It had not escaped his notice that whatever the wizard had shown to Gandalf was nowhere in sight.

 

“Tell me what happened,” Bilbo demanded, giving his friend a no-nonsense look.

 

“You mean you weren’t listening in from the doorway?” The wizard asked him, with amused expectation. A blush tried to creep up the hobbit’s neck; they would have had no idea he’d even been there if not for Bofur’s ill-timed greeting, but there was nothing for it. He should have been paying better attention to his surroundings, at any rate.

 

“All right, you caught me. What is this darkness you spoke of? What’s happening in Dol Guldur?”

 

Radagast hesitated for a moment. “I cannot say for sure. Something evil is creeping into the forest, poisoning the plants and terrifying the animals. There are spiders, ugly black monstrosities, making webs and nesting in the trees. The elves in the Greenwood do not seem to be doing anything about them, but I…I cannot ignore it, as the elf king seems to wish to.”

 

_First the trolls, and now giant spiders? What is going on?_ “So what should we do?” Bilbo questioned.

 

Rather than answer immediately, Radagast moved a bit further down the hall to lean against a railing. The areas around the dining hall had open balconies and windows, showing the stunning view of the valley in which the elf safe haven was ensconced and letting in the morning light. Bilbo followed him quietly, wondering at the other’s sudden silence.

 

“ _We_ will not be doing much of anything, at least not yet,” Radagast replied grimly. “The White Council will be called to examine the situation. Some evidence has cropped up that even that stodgy old Saruman cannot discount. They will decide what needs to be done. Gandalf will be taking care of that, I assure you.”

 

“Oh…” Bilbo murmured, his brow creasing. He looked at Radagast from the corner of his eye before venturing, curiously, “and what was that object you showed Gandalf? The evidence?”

 

The wizard shuddered violently, his rosy face paling under his customary layer of dirt. “That was…let’s not talk about it for now. Until it has all been confirmed.”

 

In any other situation, Bilbo probably would have continued to press him for a bit more information, but he let it go this time. He stepped closer to his friend, leaning his shoulder to brush against the other’s, and nodded silently. He’d never seen his friend quite so pale or shaken. Whatever that object was, it must mean something very bad indeed.

 

“Do you like them? These dwarves?”

 

“What?” Bilbo looked confusedly at the wizard’s sudden question.

 

“Well, they’re not a bad bunch, yes? I mean, they’re a bit disagreeable and grumpy, and that one with the pine-cone shaped hair—sticking up this way and that—he’s got some sticky fingers. I don’t know about that one with the axe lodged in his head either, poor fellow. And then there’s that one with the tattoos all over him—“

 

“Radagast,” Bilbo interrupted with a fond laugh.

 

The wizard gave him a warm smile, the fear of the previous conversation all but gone. “All that aside, the dwarves seem to have their hearts in the right place, if not their heads or hands. You could do a lot worse for traveling companions, and they could certainly use you, as they seem to be in quite a bind.” Radagast paused, looked hesitantly at the hobbit.

 

“You think I should go with them,” Bilbo spoke quietly.

 

The other gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “You were never meant to stay there, wiling away your good days in our little cabin. You’ve been an immensely helpful protector over the forest and the road…and we will all miss you very dearly, but I think your path lies ahead, with these dwarves, out there in the world.”

 

“But what about our cottage? If you’re right that something bad is about to happen, then you will have to get involved, to help Gandalf and the others. Who will protect our home? Marseille, Sebastian, the rabbits? The quilts, and the kitchen, the garden, and the table…. ” He trailed off, his hands grasping the rail tightly.

 

“I won’t be away for very long, but I’ll be sure to put a little mixture of mine onto the outside of the house, to deter any unwelcome visitors,” Radagast assured him.

 

Bilbo grimaced, knowing exactly the ‘mixture’ in question, which produced an odor so foul he made the wizard keep it in a completely different section of the forest.

 

 “As for Sebastian and Marseille, I think I’m going to leave them with an old friend. He’s quite the animal lover and will take good care of them. I dare say they’ll be spoiled rotten by the time they come back.”

 

“…I’m not sure I’m ready, Radagast,” Bilbo replied, turning his head away from the wizard.

 

 It had been a long time since the hobbit had ever felt truly afraid of something. In the days after Radagast had first found him, he had been distrustful of everything, fearful that any movement would end in pain or abandonment. As he grew more comfortable in their cozy life at the cottage, he had also begun to feel an increasing interest in the outside world, a growing need to step outside the cottage door and the forest that had protected him for years, to see what lied on the path ahead. But a large part of him could not bear to let go of his treasures, his new family and the home they’d all made together. What if he were to come back one day to find it all gone? Destroyed, missing? _Dead_?

 

A warm hand pressed against his cheek and pulled his face gently around. Radagast watched him with eyes so warm and confident and hopeful that Bilbo’s own watered, and he brushed a hand under them quickly.

 

“You are not the same hobbit that I found near death so many years ago,” the wizard said in gentle, hushed voice. “You’ve grown into an incredibly brave and compassionate hobbit, if a bit mischievous and bossy upon occasion. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend and companion these past few years, truly. You’ve suffered a great deal so early in your life, but…you’ve come out stronger for it. You are ready for this, Bilbo. And I think they need you as much as you need them.”

 

“Thank you, Radagast,” Bilbo replied, his voice so quiet, it was nearly a whisper. “I…I’ll think about it.”

 

“I think you’d better decide pretty soon,” Radagast hinted. “Their time here is quickly growing to an end.” He patted Bilbo on the shoulder affectionately before smiling. “Now, why don’t we grab a spot of breakfast? I feel like I haven’t eaten in days! It’s quite taxing to travel so far so quickly, you know.”

 

 The hobbit snorted. “How did you manage to get back so fast? The rabbits must have been exhausted.”

 

“Well, I had to ask a few of my rabbit friends over there to lend me a hand. It was pretty short notice, though, so we had to make a deal of sorts. Belvedere’s going to have me collecting his acorns for ages…and I might have promised him some of your carrots every now and then.”

 

“I’m not even gone for two days before you start giving away my carrots! Honestly, can’t trust you with anything, can I?” Bilbo sighed, half amused, half exasperated. “As long as you didn’t give away my tomatoes, I suppose that’s fine.”

 

“Actually….”

 

“Radagast!”

 

* * *

 

 The rest of the day was spent wondering around Rivendell, visiting the Healing Halls and the library, Bilbo alone with his thoughts. The dwarves had mostly contented themselves with lazing around their rooms, sharpening weapons and occasionally raiding the kitchens for snacks. Fíli and Kíli delighted in telling and re-telling the archery match the day before, each version growing more elaborate and silly. Bilbo was fairly positive that Elrohir had not wiped away a tear of admiration when Kíli shot the victory arrows nor had Elladan snapped a bow in half with furious shame, but the hobbit figured he’d let the boys have their fun.

 

Radagast, Gandalf, and Elrond had retreated into the elf lord’s study for a serious discussion, which had Thorin chafing in suspicion and simmering anger. He was likely more indignant that he had not warranted an invitation to this secret meeting rather than actually concerned with what they were discussing (or so Bilbo thought). The dwarf prince had wondered broodingly between his company’s rooms and the balcony outside, his face a grim mask of determination and impatience.

 

Despite Bilbo’s misgivings, he’d ultimately decided that he did indeed want to join the dwarves on their hare-brained quest to take a treasure back from a dragon, but the hobbit had yet to approach their grumpy leader about it. For one, he’d been a bit of an unpleasant bastard that day, even to his company. And for the other, well…talking to Thorin about joining felt final. In a way that had Bilbo’s heart running like a Rhosgobel rabbit.

 

At the moment, Thorin was staring out onto the night-fallen valley with a mulish expression, his large hands gripping tightly to the rail lining the balcony. The flickering light of the lamps hanging along the walkway cast shadows along the hard planes of the dwarf’s face, similar to the way he had looked sitting before the fire in his and Radagast’s cottage. He was wearing his full traveling cloak and armor underneath, as if ready to leap into battle at a moment’s notice.

 

Bilbo wondered if they were really that suspicious of the elves that the dwarves felt the need to arm themselves constantly. It seemed a bit ridiculous to the hobbit. They were living in an elven stronghold, eating elven food and drinking elven wine; if the elves had really meant to harm them, they’d had quite possibly every opportunity to do so.

 

“Master Baggins?” Thorin called lowly, without turning to look at him. “Come forward, if you have something to say.”

 

“Right,” Bilbo answered sheepishly, stepping out of the shadows in the doorway to their rooms. He’d not meant to linger there, but a spot of nerves had hit him. “Well….”

 

“Yes?”

 

Bilbo moved to lean against the railing a few feet away from Thorin, looking up at the moon shining luminous silver light upon the valley. “I’ve thought a bit more about your offer, actually.”

 

“Indeed,” the dwarf inquired, finally turning to look at him. The lines of worry around his mouth and forehead smoothed out a little, and he looked interested at least.

 

“Yes, I—I mean, if you are still in need of a burglar—mind you, I’ve never stolen from a dragon before, just men and—well—I suppose I could lend my expertise for a few months or so.” Bilbo wanted to curse his timidity. He’d had the stomach to chide this dwarf a good one not two days ago, but now he stutters like a nervous fauntling? It must’ve been his talk with Radagast; the emotional talk with the affectionate wizard must have turned his spine into pudding.

 

Thorin looked rather surprised before his expression became shuttered and grim. “You should know that I cannot guarantee your safety, Master Baggins. Nor can I promise that you will be able to return to your cottage in the forest. I can offer you a fair share in the treasure if we succeed…but our victory is uncertain.”

 

“Well, I think you know I don’t care much for gold or silver,” the hobbit replied ruefully.

 

Thorin grunted wryly and watched the hobbit with speculation. “What do you hope to gain by joining this quest, if I may ask?”

 

Bilbo hesitated before deciding to give a truthful answer, if not a complete one. “I’d like to see more of the world, I suppose. And you lot look like you could use the help,” he added with a smirk, enjoying the flash of annoyance in the dwarf’s dark blue eyes.

 

Thorin sighed but gave the hobbit a small smile. “Then welcome to my company, Master Baggins. Balin should have all the necessary forms for you to sign, so you should speak with him soon. Tonight, actually. I expect our leave from this place will be very quick.” He gave the beautiful valley a contemptuous look.”

 

“Alright then,” Bilbo turned to do just that before the dwarf called his name again quietly.

 

“You realize that I will be your leader, once you sign the contract and join the company,” he said, his voice a low, rough command. “You will have to follow my orders, whether you agree or not.”

 

“I think you will find, Master Oakenshield, that ‘follow’ can be a very subjective word,” Bilbo replied slyly, before entering the company’s rooms and closing the door quietly behind him, following the sound of raucous laughter with another smirk on his face.

 

When the company was roused just before the break of dawn and hastily made their way through the darkened corridors to the entrance of Rivendell, Bilbo stood at the beginning of the pathway, bright-eyed and grinning eagerly. Thorin grimaced the entire way up the rocky path and onto the open plains, wondering if he’d only invited more trouble along with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Your comments are always encouraging and appreciated. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Comment, if it pleases ya! ;D


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